Mother's Love
by carocali
Summary: THEORY FIC using canon. Mary made a choice to save Dean, without realizing the consequences to Sam, unleashing an unusual connection to his brother, and to the Demon. CSPWDT through Usual Suspects. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**What if Mary could talk to Sam - finally had a connection to him? To let him know what really happened that night in 1983? What else would she tell him?**

Hi, again! Yes, here I am, writing another NEW story, instead of finishing my other stuff. I'm sorry. This has been eating at me and I had to write it. It was a one-shot, but well, um, it's not...

I've been thinking a lot about what John told Dean regarding Sam and the children like him. We know it's eating Dean alive, and killing Sam thinking he'll never know the truth - until it's too late.

After _Children Shouldn't..._ I thought about the visit to Mary's grave and Sam giving her the dog tags. Then the Evil Plot Bunnies decided to take over. What happened before Mary died? Why did things come out the way they did? This is my theory on how Sam came to be one of 'the children.'

My constant, undying gratitude to **Geminigrl11** for betaing this story, but also to my pal **Lemmypie** who helped me flesh some of it out. Also to **MaddieM** for being a great sounding board and supporter. Finally, to my pals over at **limp - sam dot com**. We've had some really fun, amazing conversations there - from 'what's up with Sam's bangs?' to 'what are the Demon's plans for the boys?' If you want a little Sammy love, it's a nice, safe place to discuss the tall one.

So, here's my take on what happened during CSPWDT, and beyond. Let me know what you think of this crazy theory.

I do not own anything Supernatural, but I'd sure like to! I mean, really? Who wouldn't! Even the Impala? I'd take that, right?

:D

Caroline

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was just the right thing to do. Sam knew it in his bones.

Although they had never visited their mother's grave, erected by an uncle they knew nothing about, it seemed important for Mary Winchester to have John's dog tags - that there was something tangible finally connecting them after 22 years of separation. Dean fought Sam on the idea, not wanting to stir up old memories and open healing wounds, but in the end, it was easier to just go with Sam's need for closure. At least with their mother. With Dad, Sam was starting to think there might never be closure. Not for him. Not for Dean.

Sam ambled to the gravesite as his forlorn sibling stayed behind, unable to make the journey by his brother's side. He'd never been there before, but instinct seemed to guide him to the right place. He didn't question it.

Sam kneeled at his mother's headstone and dug with his Swiss Army knife until a good chunk of dirt was unearthed. Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out the silver- plated tags. The last tangible thing he held of his father's memory. His connection to the past. Sam fingered them slightly, caressing them with his digits, saying his last goodbye.

"I think Dad would have wanted you to have these."

He gave them one last squeeze - a goodbye of sorts - and then released them into the ground and buried them with their rightful owner. A tear ran down his face, splashing to the gravesite as he hoped that his parents could once again be happy together.

o-o-o-o-o-o

It didn't take long. Dean had found another gig; right near their mother's headstone.

A young girl had died in a car crash, leaving a strange, perfect circle of 'dead' around her grave. Dean had called the cemetery groundskeeper, who confirmed the oddity of the situation. There was no explanation.

A hunt was born.

Sam suspected it was a distraction from dealing with the issue at hand; the recent death of their father, and the tragic death of their mother. Reluctantly, he agreed to go along with Dean's investigation. He had dragged Dean out here; it was only fair he humored his brother. At least for the moment.

They ran into town and spoke with the girl's father, trying to gather any information that might be of use. The man was certainly grieving but Dean was still convinced that there was something amiss with Angela Mason.

The brothers returned to the hotel room, Dean still hot on the trail of whatever the monster of the week was. He was convinced the unholy ground was just a stepping stone to the bigger picture. He was like a dog with a bone, and there was no way he was letting this go.

Try as he might, Sam was not getting through to his big brother. He could see Dean was hurting from the whole scenario. A pang of guilt rocked his torso as he realized just how badly this visit had messed with Dean. This was something that Sam had wanted – not Dean.

His own personal catharsis of his parent's deaths; trying to unite them once again in the afterlife.

He knew now that he should have insisted that Dean stay at the Roadhouse, throw back some beers, shoot some pool. Get to know Jo. But the protector instincts of the older hunter kicked in, as always, and he would not allow Sam to be on his own; especially after what happened with Gordon.

And now his hurting brother stood before him, trying to make something out of nothing. Dean kept scouring over the details, looking for something, anything to make this a hunt.

To make the pain go away.

Finally, Sam knew he had to say something. He had to try and make Dean see the reality of the situation, no matter how painful.

"I think I know what's going on here," ventured Sam, knowing he was pushing. He shifted his weight from side to side. "It's the only reason I went along with you this far."

A quizzical look crossed Dean's face as he watched his brother click into Mother Hen Mode. "What are you talking about?"

"This is about Mom's grave," Sam said, with deep concern in his gravely voice.

Dean let out an exhale at the continued accusation that he knew was coming, turning his face from Sam. "It's got nothing to do with it."

"You wouldn't step within a hundred yards of it." Sam shook his head, feeling the conflicted emotions exuding from his brother. Dean refused to look at him as he continued to unveil his revelation. "Look, maybe you're imagining a hunt where there isn't one so you don't have to think about Mom. Or Dad." Sam knew he had crossed a line, but at this point, he just wanted to show his brother he was there, no matter what.

That they would make it through together.

But Dean wasn't having any of it. He looked at Sam with untold anger in his eyes as he tossed the book to the table and stared Sam down.

Sam sensed the change in posture and knew he hit a nerve. He looked around the floor, letting out a controlled sigh, offering an alternative to the building tension. Resigned. "You wanna take another swing? Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better."

Dean's gut clenched at the thought of the punch he'd laid on his brother the last time they fought about Dean's pent up emotions. "I don't need this crap." He grabbed his coat, brushing past Sam toward the door, snaking his keys along the way.

"Dean, where're you going?" Sam asked with empathy drenching his voice.

The hunter turned around slowly, deliberately, and faced his brother. "I'm gonna go get a drink. Alone."

It was final. No room for debate.

Sam watched his brother go, wanting to follow, but knowing if he valued his life, he would stay in the room and await his return. The door clicked shut.

Dean was hurting, and there was nothing Sam could say to make it better. He wasn't dealing with their father's death. Hell, he wasn't dealing with their mother's death. It was like Dean had erected walls of steel where Sam was concerned, with no hope for entry.

_Why is he shutting me out? _

Sam paced the room, looking for answers. The guilt ate away at his stomach as he hoped for his brother's quick return. He was worried Dean would do something stupid – get into a bar fight, pick up the wrong girl. There was nothing he could do but wait.

The night wore on, and there was no sign of Dean. Sam looked out the window, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of the guttural motor, but none came. It was nearing bar time, so he expected to see his brother stumble into the room.

Nothing.

Finally around 3 a.m. Sam gave up and went to bed, phone tucked safely near his head in case his brother needed him. _Hoped_ his brother needed him. Thoughts swirled in his head until sleep finally took him, and he fell into a restless sleep.

-o-o-o-o-

She was as beautiful as he remembered.

Mary Winchester stood a slight distance from her son, not dressed in the haunting white nightgown she wore the evening of her death, but in simple clothes – jeans and a blouse. There was a comfort and peace that enveloped her; her face radiant, her hair flowing in that natural way he remembered from the photos. And the night in Lawrence.

Around her neck were the dog tags Sam had buried earlier in the day.

Sam couldn't suppress a smile as he looked upon his mother's face, knowing he had done the right thing by coming to her grave earlier that day. She looked happy, truly happy, and it warmed Sam to no end. He looked around, hoping that his father would show as well.

Sam was suddenly overcome by the beauty of the scenery around him. They were near a lake, next to a path filled with tall trees and shrubbery. It felt like fall as the trees were shedding their summer best; dressed in deep reds and yellows. There was a warm breeze coming from the lake that focused him once again to his mother as it blew in her direction.

"Sam," Mary said with such love that it stopped Sam's heart. She walked to him, finally able to touch him, _hold_ him, like she was never able to do. She caressed his cheek and felt the warm liquid spill down from his cavernous, brown eyes. Sam towered over her small frame, shadowing her, but it didn't dim any of the light that seemed to emanate from her. They stood for a moment, taking each other in; savoring the moment. Then she dove into his chest and wrapped her arms around his mid section.

_She's here. Really here._

Sam's eyes continued to spill tears as the realization hit him. After all this time of wondering what she was like, he felt her. Knew her. This was a visit – a vision – from his mother. Somehow she had made it to him and he absorbed every nuance of the moment with his being.

"Mom."

They held each other for several minutes; no words were spoken. The energy Sam felt was so soothing; so pure. She made all the pain go away with the simple embrace. He felt all the things she'd wanted to say after all these years with just her touch.

But there was something else.

Sam pulled back and looked at his mother. Streams of tears were upon her face as her happiness turned to worry.

"Mom?"

"Sam," she began, blinking away her tears, looking to her feet. Her voice was filled with a strained plea. "It's Dean. He's in so much pain."

Mary's youngest stroked the blonde hair from her face, placing it behind her ear and feeling the wetness of the tears on the strands. He cupped her face with his hand.

"I know. But I don't know what to do. What to say. He won't talk to me. I can't…" Sam stopped and looked away as his breath hitched at his failure to help his brother.

"He has so much…. John put so much on him, it wasn't fair," Mary grabbed Sam's hand from her face and squeezed with both of hers. She could feel the confusion in his energy as Sam looked into her eyes. "He never knew. Neither of you did."

Mary turned and walked to a nearby bench along the lake. Sam followed her lead and cocked his head at the change in her voice. "What did Dad do, Mom? _What _don't we know?" Sam curved around and sat next to his mother on the bench, his heart pounding faster as the conversation continued.

"The truth. About you, Sam. And the others like you," Mary began as the sadness dripped from her voice. She absented fingered the new jewelry around her neck, feeling the embossed letters of her husband's name. "Your father found out, a few months ago, he told Dean. Right before he died."

Sam felt his stomach clench, looking to her incredulously. "Mom, what are you saying? You know about the demon?" _Dad knew? He lied to me? _Dean_ lied to me?_

Mary could do nothing but nod her head as if it were the heaviest thing in the world. "At least, I know how it all started." She realized the truth about Sam's past, his genesis, must be told. Not only for his protection, but for that of his brother.

"Your brother was sick," Mary began, her breath hitching, tears falling freely as she began the tale. Sealing her youngest to his fate. "All those years ago. We didn't know what was wrong with him. I didn't know…"

Sam wrapped his arm around his mother and pulled her close on the bench. He knew his mother was remorseful; terrified. So was he. Sam could feel the sobs coming from her. He had no idea where this going. _When was Dean sick? _

"We raced your brother to the hospital. He was having a hard time breathing. Dean was so fragile, so precious…" Mary lost herself in the memory, smiling at the innocence of her child. She was silent for a moment as she gathered herself to continue. Then the reality came crashing back and she shivered, trying to get herself together.

Taking advantage of the moment of silence, Sam interjected his thoughts, keeping them simple and non accusatory. "Mom, when was this? How old was Dean?"

Mary wiped her face, and took a deep breath. She pulled back and angled herself on the bench so she could tell her son – face to face – what she had done. "Three and a half. He was such a little runt, so full of life." She laughed at the thought of her baby and his spunk. The smile on her face grew. "He used to get into so much trouble, and your father? Well, he used to encourage it to no end. But Dean always listened when things went too far. That military bravado of your father's was certainly instilled on your brother at a young age."

Sam couldn't help but smile at the thought of little Dean running all over the place. Happy. Before…

"What was wrong with him?" Sam pressed, more than a little anxious to hear what he'd been searching for for over a year, yet trying to be sympathetic to his mother's needs.

Mary looked to her youngest; feelings of guilt consuming her. She shook her head. "They never did figure out what it was. The tests they ran came up inconclusive, some kind of tumor near his lung, maybe, but they never knew for sure," she paused to catch her own breath, empathizing with how Dean must have felt. She looked out to the lake, pulling the chain at her neck. "They tried everything to get rid of it they could think of. Said surgery was too risky on a child so young. They…" Mary closed her eyes to stop the tears from starting again. "They gave him a few weeks at best… The doctors said my baby was going to die."

Sam grabbed her and held her, knowing that whatever she had done was purely out of love and desperation. Love for Dean.

Mary sobbed openly into Sam, letting all her guilt, confusion and love flow with each heave and tear.

Sam never realized how much he had needed this his entire life until he felt her in his arms. To be able to comfort his mother, to talk with her and share their lives. How he had wished that she would have been there to watch him grow, teach him right from wrong, encourage his studies. Dean had known her. Not for very long, but he had known her. But then she was violently taken away. Sam smiled inwardly, knowing that Dean at least had that, and hugged her even tighter.

"I was in the chapel one evening. Your father refused to go," Mary began again, calming herself; needing to get the story out. "He believed that a God who would take a child was not worth acknowledging. So, I went by myself and prayed. I prayed so hard to cure Dean; to find a way. To figure out what the hell was happening to him." She stopped and looked at Sam with a grief that was unbearable. "And then _he_ walked in the door."

Sam's heart beat faster as he realized he was a step closer to the truth. The truth that his mother took to the grave with her. The truth that his father, and now his brother, knew about him. Sam could feel Mary's anguish and confusion. They fed into his own worries about the situation. But he certainly knew who 'he' was.

"The Demon."

She nodded. "But I didn't know. How could I? I was in a _chapel_. If I would have known…"

_You think something like that works on something like me? _

Sam brushed her face, quelling her fears. "You couldn't have known, Mom. You can't blame yourself."

"He asked me if I believed in miracles. He said he could help me." Mary seemed to go into a sort of trance as she recanted what happened with the Demon. Sam didn't want to interrupt as she continued. His heart beating so loud, he swore it would pop from his chest. "I told him I'd do anything; believe in anything to make Dean better. And he smiled at me," she stopped, overcome by her decision all those years ago. Realizing the gravity of the choice now, with her second son sitting next to her. "I should have known…"

Suddenly feeling cramped, Mary rose from the bench and walked toward the lake. She watched the waves hit the shore as she remembered the visit in the chapel. Sam followed suit and walked next to her, allowing her her moment, but wanting to be there when she was ready to talk again.

"I didn't really believe it, you know? How could he help?" Mary called to the lake, as if it would reply. "Miracles don't happen." She grabbed Sam's hand instinctively, motherly, squeezing it, as he placed it gently on her shoulder. "And then…

"Your brother made improvements; slight at first, but certainly going in the right direction. We couldn't believe it. His blood count was better, he was more coherent. Two weeks passed and there was marked change, but I started to feel ill." Mary took Sam's hand and placed it next to her cheek, rubbing him with affection.

"You were pregnant," Sam answered for her. She nodded her reply and took a shaky breath.

"It never even occurred to me that the two would be connected. We were just so happy. Everything seemed to be going our way."

"A miracle."

Sam shuddered involuntarily at this revelation. He was stunned by the confession of his mother, not really sure what to think. The only thing he could do was listen, and try to figure out what the hell had really happened.

Mary nodded at Sam's interjection. "Dean was getting better, and you were on the way. It seemed my miracle had happened. Two miracles." She laughed at the irony. "I had forgotten about the man in the chapel, and never thought to mention it to John at the time. I never thought anything would come of it.

"Months went by, you and I continued to grow," she stopped to squeeze his hand, "and Dean got healthier by the minute. The tumor was disappearing on its own, little by little, until one day – six months into the pregnancy – it fully vanished. Not a trace."

"Six months?" Sam turned to look at her, swallowing hard. _Why is everything based on six months? _"Mom, what are you saying? That I _cured _Dean? From the womb?"

Mary sighed and kissed Sam's hand before letting it go, nodding ever so slightly. "When the tumor was officially listed as 'cured,' I saw _him_. He didn't say anything to me – just looked at me across the room, raised his head to get my attention and left. You kicked and punched something awful as soon as he looked at me. You _knew_ something was wrong," her voice held a quiver as she rushed out her thoughts, trying to explain, _justify_, to Sam. "Then everything came back to me and I started to panic. I asked for an ultrasound right then to make sure everything was alright.

"I suddenly began to worry about your lungs, thinking you had taken on Dean's mysterious illness, and that you were in danger. As we looked at the ultrasound, there was an irregularity, but only for a moment. Then it was gone. The doctor thought it was a glitch in the system, but I knew better. I _saw_ the shadow outside the door, and knew. It was _him_. He _did_ something. Something to make you healthy again. I was terrified, Sam. I knew I'd made a terrible mistake."

Sam stood, unable to say anything. It all made sense, but it didn't make it any easier to stomach. The demon had chosen Mary; preyed on her. Knew she had just conceived and could manipulate her – get to her child. Maybe he made Dean sick in the first place – to bargain. It was a brilliant plan, really. How many of the other 'chosen' had the same tale attached to their fate?

Mary knew that Sam was at a loss. The fear for her son's life – his fate and future – was due to her choice to save Dean. "I tried to tell your father what happened in the chapel. That the man said he could offer a miracle. But John just brushed it off. Said I was hysterical and my hormones were out of whack," she laughed cruelly at the memory, realizing what a huge mistake she had made by not pushing him to believe her.

"After you were born, you were so perfect," she smiled at the beautiful memory, cutting into the worry lines forming on Sam's face. "I was happy. We were all happy. And Dean? Once you were born, he was so fiercely protective of you. He wouldn't let anything near you. Like you were connected from the start. Somehow…he just knew."

A tear trickled down Sam's face. _Dean knows that my life was arranged for his. My fate was predetermined. Even _**before**_ he knew, he knew_. "And Dad told Dean about this, right before he died? Dean has been carrying around this additional guilt since then?" Sam shook his head. Suddenly it all became so clear why he wouldn't talk to Sam. Dean was too overwhelmed with information and grief of his own.

"Sam, I'm so sorry. I didn't…"

Mary's sobs became unbearable as Sam's heart broke. She buried herself into his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her. He couldn't be angry at her; she only did what she thought was the right thing. She never would have willingly given Sam over.

Remembering that he didn't have all the information, he pressed his mother for more details. "Mom, what did he say to you? What happened that night?" He lifted her face from his shoulder and looked into her eyes. Mary's anguish was spilling from her and Sam did his best to try and comfort her.

"He came for you. The night you were six months old," Mary choked, remembering the night of her death. "You were fussing, so I came to check on you. At first, I thought it was your father hovering over your crib. Then I realized that he was sleeping downstairs." Her face became vacant again as she put the final moments of her existence out for Sam. She wanted to remember every detail. He deserved that, after all. "I ran back upstairs and realized it was _him_. I told him to get away from you. He, _It,_ looked at me and smiled, glaring at me with yellow eyes from hell."

"_Mary, so nice to see you again. I trust you've been well?"_

"_What do you want," she answered through gritted teeth._

"_I've come for my payment. Remember, in the chapel? When you said that you'd do anything? **Anything** for poor, young Dean?"_

"_What. Do. You. Want?"_

_The Demon looked down at the cooing infant before him and back to Mary._

"_Sammy," he stated, "he's mine."_

"_No! You can't have him. I never agreed…"_

"_Oh, dear woman, but you did! You said you'd do anything."_

"_No," she gasped, "I never meant one for the other…"_

"_Well, those details were never worked out, were they?" The Demon chuckled at his game. "I held up my end of the bargain. It's time for you to pay." He looked down to the child, and smiled. "With Sammy." _

_The young infant looked up at the man before him; no fear in his eyes. A familiarity._

"_See? He knows me? But why wouldn't he? We were acquainted when you were six months pregnant. You remember the day, don't you, Mary? How Sam reacted to me then? I knew I had made the right choice seeking you out. Strong genes. A strong child." He reached into the crib to pick up Sammy. "**My** child." _

_Mary lunged for the man before he was able to touch her son, scratching the side of his face. Enraged, he threw Mary to the wall, knocking the wind from her. To her horror, her body was raised up the wall and over her child's crib. Helpless to watch the scene unfold below her._

_The demon smiled as he watched the ritual take place. The sacrifice. As the woman was directly overhead, a slash was made into her stomach as she forced out a bloodcurdling cry, trying to warn John. Stunned, the Demon knew his plan would be interrupted and vanished, leaving the crib and its contents behind._

"I watched as your father raced into the room, unable to speak. He went to your side. I was so relieved that you were alright. And then…"

Sam sank to the ground, uncontrolled sobs now coming from him. He buried his head in his hands, digging through his long locks, trying to get a handle on the information he just heard. They had been told the story of what they thought happened, but to hear it first-hand, to confirm the horror of the evening, was beyond overwhelming. She tried to protect him - to save him - and ended up getting herself killed.

_My first victim. Is this to be my life? An unending string of violence and death? Letting people die around me? Killing them? Is that what the Demon has planned for me?_

As if in answer, Mary joined Sam on the ground and fisted her son's jacket, pulling him to her face. She shook him from his reverie, her voice filled with tears. "Don't you think _any_ of this is your fault Sam Winchester! _I _made the mistake. Me." She pulled him to her, then wrapped her arms around him as though he were still the infant she had left so long ago. Absorbing his pain, his tears, the way he had absorbed hers only minutes before."

Sam's mind was swirling with all the information it was receiving. "But…Dad. What does he know about this? Why didn't he tell me?" Anger suddenly swelled in his gut at the secrets and lies of his father.

"Honestly, I don't know, son," Mary said, looking at the grief-stricken gaze of her youngest. "Your father went to Missouri for help, and they started to put some pieces together. I could watch what he was doing, but I was never able to get close enough to hear. I know he talked with a lot of people, did research. Traveled. But there was something that kept me from him, and you boys. Probably something the Demon did to further drive a wedge in our family." Mary pulled herself from the ground slowly, staring down at Sam. "Not until Lawrence was I able to make the connection to you. I think it was the house. It's the only thing that makes sense." She clutched at the dog tags once again.

"What I do know is that he figured out that the demon wanted you – had plans for you. To what end, I'm not sure." Sam rose to meet her, brushing himself off from his cascade to the ground. His figure blocked the sunlight from her face as she suddenly looked tired and worn. She continued on, knowing this would be the last time she saw her son. "But you were chosen. The Demon knew about you well before I did. I don't know whether he made Dean sick to get to you, or whether he just happened along. What I _do _know, is that this is my fault," Mary proclaimed with tears in her eyes, staring up at her mass of a child, "and whatever plans this thing has for you, you have to fight it. You _fight,_ no matter what. You _and_ your brother can defeat it. _Together_."

They had unconsciously made their way back to the bench and Sam sank into it like a hundred-year-old man. "How? I don't know what its plans are? We don't know how to kill it," Sam's eyes begged his mother for answers as the tears fell. "Mom, I don't know what to do. Can Dad help? Where is he?"

Mary's gaze fell to the leaf-scattered grass around her, sitting next to Sam. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. "You'll know what to do, when the time is right. Follow your instincts."

Mary paused, drinking in all that was her son, and rose once more, cupping her son's cheek. She started to walk down the path.

"Mom? Where are you going?" Sam jumped up to follow, but she raised her hand to stop him.

"I have to go. I've already been here too long. But I needed you to know the information that I had. To help. To try and make things right. I owe you that. And so much more."

"But Dad?" Sam said desperately. "Did he tell you what was going on? After all this time, he's keeping secrets from you too?" He knew John Winchester, secret-keeper extraordinaire, would be able to answer the remaining questions.

"Your father…he's not here, Sam, I'm… not exactly sure where he is." Mary looked sadly at Sam, trying to convey the information. "I feel him sometimes, but…"

"But the dog tags?" Sam interrupted, "I thought that was your connection to him? To be with him? You looked so happy when I first saw you."

Mary smiled weakly and brushed the hair from her eyes in a habit familiar to Sam. "The dog tags became my connection to _you_. They were filled with_ your_ energy. That's how I could finally come to you. Through your, _gifts_," she grasped them tightly around her neck. "And now I have something of John's that will help him find his way to me. That's more than I've had in a long time, Sammy. Thank you."

She turned again down the path, away from her youngest. Sam tried to follow but found himself unable to move. His heart cried out as it broke into a million pieces.

"Mom! Please, don't go. Mom!" Tears streamed down Sam's face as he lost his mother for the third time.

With a final glance back, she spoke to Sam with love radiating from her. "I love you, Sammy. And I believe in you. You and your brother, you'll defeat him. I know you will. Together. And you'll find John." Mary stopped at the mention of her husband, hoping that her children could give him peace. "You tell your brother I love him with all my heart."

And she faded from Sam's view.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the nice response to the last chapter. I'm kinda playing this by ear. The whole idea of Mary and Sam came to me after watching Usual Suspects, actually, in that the brothers WERE connected through other means. This is my stab at a theory of who Sam is and why he was chosen. We'll see what happens...**

**My thanks again to Gem (who must beta every story that I read on - how the hell she does it is beyond me!) and Lemmypie for their assistance in making this a smoother story.**

**I own nothing, except a 'muscle car Impala' that's not even black. The idea is mine, the characters are not.**

**(Haven't given up on Holy Cross or Cahokia. With school out, and grades in, I'll have a touch more time. Promise! Thanks for all the nudges though. You make me smile!)**

**Happy Holidays everyone!**

**:D**

**Caroline**

**Chapter 2**

The sobs were what woke him. Wet, heaving sobs. The pain in his heart was throbbing, bursting against his ribcage, causing Sam to hitch his breathing.

"Mom."

The strewn sheets were soaked with sweat and tears. Sam's stomach announced its role in the awakening as well, as he pitched over the bed and to the bathroom to throw up whatever was left from his non-existent dinner.

And then he noticed that Dean wasn't there.

Sam sat on the bathroom floor for what felt, to him, like hours, lost in his own oblivion. The tiles stretched from the floor up the wall halfway and were cool as he leaned his throbbing head back into them. Too much information had come at once. Too many emotions accompanied them. The only thing he could do was sit and let the tears fall. Let them wash over his features and pull the pain away. The numbness had taken over. Until his stomach lurched again.

And Dean still wasn't there.

The last of the spasms finally eased and he pulled himself unsteadily from the floor to the mirror. His mind started to play tricks on him, using the information that his mother had confessed about the demon. The reflection that stared back at him was not his own. He saw a tinge of yellow gracing his irises. Sam blinked quickly and realized it was an illusion; another piece of the cruel puzzle slowly fitting into place. He turned the water on high and splashed it on his face, hoping to wash away the truth. Everything that he now knew about his origins.

The demon had done something irrevocable to him; something _wrong, long ago_. Something he had no control over.

Sam dove back to the toilet as a new round of nausea hit.

He kneeled on the floor, praying for it to end. Praying it was all a dream. But he knew his mother had really come to him. Told him part of the burden his brother was carrying. For him. Again.

"Fuck you, Dad! You couldn't tell _me_ the truth, but you could saddle Dean with it?"

Thoughts of the last moments he'd had with his father spilled into his consciousness and the guilt consumed him again, even through his new-found anger. The pit in his stomach grew as the fateful night filled his mind once again. The final words he'd had with John were spiteful, bitter, and he could never take them back.

_Dad died thinking that I hate him. Maybe he would have talked to me if... Maybe he was afraid of me. He lied…_Dean_ lied…_

Sam had asked John if he knew what the Demon had meant when he said he had plans for him. His father lied - _to his face_ - without batting an eye. Lied to both of them all those months. John knew something had happened with Mary. Her pleading words of fear about the man who offered the miracle must have come crashing down around him after her death.

Even if John didn't have all the details, he'd had a good idea that something started back in '83 and he'd refused to tell Sam or Dean what he knew. John went to Missouri and other hunters to figure it out, but never to his children to let them know; to alleviate their worries. To help them face the truth.

To tell them how to fight.

After the crash, John Winchester took the time in the hospital to make plans. Plans that certainly involved the Demon - to what end Sam wasn't sure. But it was clear that he wanted to shut Sam out of the process. Not wanting to cue Sam in to his possible path along the Demon Highway. Especially since Dean, at the time, was fighting for his life in the room down the hall.

_Why didn't he trust me? Did he think I would turn on him? Did he think I wasn't his son anymore, once he learned the truth about me?_

_But he could tell Dean what he knew. And now, I have some of the pieces._

Sam fell back to the tub and leaned against it. Sweat pouring again down his face as exhaustion set in. His brain hurt from all the thoughts pummeling their way to the surface. His body ached from expelling all the liquids in his system. His heart ached as he thought of Mary and all she had been through to try and save her boys. His soul ached knowing the Dean was dealing with all of this, and he was shutting Sam out. He pulled his fingers through his long locks and left his hands atop his head.

Suddenly he was glad Dean wasn't here.

Sam wasn't sure how to tell him about this, because it was pretty clear that they didn't know the full story of the genesis of his existence; at least not from Mary's perspective.

And not what really happened that night in '83.

John knew the basics. Certainly he remembered Mary's frayed comments when she had learned the Demon was coming back. Did John actually know that Sam, while in the womb, had cured Dean's mysterious illness, according to the Demon's arrangement? If so, what kind of additional guilt would that bring to the mound of information Dean was already hauling around? And what did John find out after he started putting the facts together?

_What am I?_

Sam pulled himself from the floor, again, and turned the shower on. He looked at the water as it flowed from the tap, steam rising from the basin. The mist began to fill the room, clouding Sam's vision. Sam let himself get lost in it, watching it swirl about. He saw his mother's face, pure and pained. Filled with guilt of the choice she made.

_How could I blame her? How could she have known?_

He remembered the night in the cabin. The night he finally was face to face with the Demon. Taunting him, on the edge of the truth. Knowing that Sam didn't know who he was. _What_ he was…

But his father did. And that made the torture that much more fun for the Demon. Letting John watch as he tormented his youngest. Flirting with the possibilities of the truth in Sammy's hands. Telling Sam with John's voice.

"_Because they got in the way…"_

"_In the way of what?"_

"_My plans for you, Sammy. You, and all the children like you…"_

"What plans?" Sam grabbed his head and pressed into his eyes. "Dad, what did you find out?"

The mist continued to fill the room. Sam breathed it in and the warm steam filled his lungs, oddly comforting him. He slowly stripped off his clinging, drenched shirt and boxers and stepped into the burning liquid, finding the blinding pain of heat apropos. He felt the stream run down his torso, raking lines of red. Sam stood in the shower and hoped the clear water would wash away the truth with each burning pass.

Time was lost. His mind was jumbled. It was too much to think about.

Eventually, the water turned cool and Sam broke himself from his self depreciation and turned the shower off. He stepped to the mat and grabbed the nearest towel, drying off and wrapping it around his waist.

The door to the bathroom opened. The chilled air struck a blow at him, causing him to shiver. As per normal routine, he ransacked his duffle and pulled out a t-shirt and jeans, quickly putting them on, still feeling the tender skin on his body from the blazing water. He ran a quick comb through his hair and paced the room.

Dean still did not show.

Sam looked at his phone, hoping that maybe he missed a call from his brother while he introduced his insides to the outside world. Nothing.

"_It's Dean. He's in so much pain."_

Mary's words came back at Sam once again as another stab of guilt rang through Sam's stomach. He didn't know what to do, where to start. How to get Dean through the devastating loss of their father. The loss of his innocence. Of his faith.

"_You slap on a big, fake smile, but I can see right through it. Cause I know how you feel, Dean. Dad's dead, and he left a hole, and it hurts so bad you can't take it."_

The hunt in Red Lodge, Montana, where they met Gordon Walker, the vampire hunter, came back to Sam with those words spoken. That was the first sign that Dean was not handling his father's death; the brutal, frightening way he killed the vampire on the dock. Well that, and the merciless beating of the Impala the week before.

Dean had taken to Gordon like a long-lost war buddy, swapping stories of gore and death. Hunting seemed to be the only thing that kept Dean occupied enough to get him through right now. Not Sam. Hunting. And everything related to it.

The pain from their father's loss had transformed into vengeance; and it didn't matter what supernatural thing got in the way.

And now Dean needed so badly for this Angela Mason mystery to be a real hunt; to distract, to justify. To forget.

Mary.

John.

"_I told him I'd do anything; believe in anything to make Dean better. And he smiled at me..."_

"Mom, I know how you feel. What do I do?" Sam spoke aloud, hoping her spirit was still near him. "This has gone from bad to worse. Dean is so lost. How do I make him whole again?" His eyes welled with tears again as he sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

Sam needed to stop thinking about this. He needed a way to get through to Dean. To get him to acknowledge their loss. Make him whole again. So they could both heal. Together.

But all the things his mother said came crashing back into his mind.

"_Sam, I'm so sorry. I didn't…" _

He closed his eyes to try and drive the knowledge away, but it kept coming; playing like an all-night movie.

"_Mom, what are you saying? That I _cured_ Dean? From the womb?"_

Sam fisted his hands in his hair, trying to pull the thoughts from his brain.

"_You kicked and punched something awful as soon as he looked at me. You knew something was wrong... Then everything came back to me and I started to panic. "_

He screamed at the onslaught of images being thrown at him. The words from his mother coming full-force.

"_Once you were born, he was so fiercely protective of you. He wouldn't let anything near you. Like you were connected from the start. Somehow…he just knew."_

"Back in the hospital. I swear I _felt_ him," Sam contemplated both his mother's words and his inner gut. He looked at his jeans, noticing a new rip. He picked at it, making it bigger. "It was Dean, before I knew he was trying to get through to me. The shattered glass? When he was dying on the table…"

"_I said get back…"_

Sam shivered, remembering the chill and the voice that he was certain was Dean's in that room as his brother flat-lined. Had he really heard it? Was Dean fighting the reaper then? Keeping it at bay?

"And now he doesn't want me anywhere near him…" Sam cried as he fell back onto the bed, his head pounding.

"Oh God, Dean. Why, man?" Sam lay there, trying to escape the torment. Trying to figure out how to fix Dean. Fix himself. Quell the overwhelming guilt inside. Kill that son of a bitch who ruined their lives. It was too much to take.

"_Did he say anything to you, about anything?"_

"_No, nothing."_

That was the other part that made this so hard: Dean had lied to him. He understood why - even if his mother hadn't laid everything out before him, he would have understood. Dean was still trying to protect him. Again. Kept all the pain for himself, refusing to share the burden of the truth. But, if he was honest, he knew it meant that Dean didn't fully trust him, either. Knew that if their positions were reversed, Dean would have been furious at being kept in the dark.

And Sam was angry. About that, about Dad lying, Dad dying - about so many things. But worry for Dean trumped every other emotion.

Sam couldn't take the ambush anymore. He leaned over and grabbed the remote, flipping the TV on to keep his mind from the overwhelming rush of information. Sam took a deep breath and pushed himself up on the bed. He wiped away the drying streams of tears from his face.

He stopped on the first channel and watched for a moment.

_Lifetime Network_ was showing a mother with her children, playing happily, as a man stalked her from a fence on the other side of the park. Clicking quickly past that, he found a _CNN_ discussion of the latest disaster in Iraq and the loss of lives. The images showed death and devastation, talking heads about the war. Experts in their field.

"Definitely not!"

_ESPN_ had a clip on the Bears making it to the Superbowl, despite the blemishes on their once perfect record. The sportscasters were making their comparisons to the '85 Superbowl Champs, and how they also lost their undefeated record to the Miami Dolphins.

"I wasn't even two then. And Dean was…"

He quickly changed the channel again, finding _Comedy Central_. Their movie of the moment was _Ghostbusters_.

"Come on! Give me a break," Sam shouted at the TV hoping that something would catch his eye that didn't remind him of the tragedy of his life.

_Disney_ was doing a special on the making of _Bambi_.

Flip. Infomercial on knives.

Flip. Billy Graham preaching about the evils of Satan.

Flip. _Bonnie and Clyde_ on _AMC_.

Then he hit the _Skin Channel_. While this was certainly not up Sam's alley, it certainly stood to distract, and it didn't remind him of anything going on in _his_ life. Dean's maybe…

"_Next on the Skin Channel; Casa Erotica 4. A tale of two Latin beauties…"_

As if on cue, the door opened. And there was Dean.

A night's worth of turmoil and worry hadn't completely dulled Sam's senses. Hunter instinct flew into high gear as he quickly shut the TV off, tossing the remote behind him, hoping Dean didn't see. It would be endless ribbing if he did.

Dean stepped in, clearly taken aback by his brother watching soft-core porn. He looked at Sam, who was nonchalant about the content of the screen, and looked back at the TV.

"Hey" Sam called, deciding it was best to play it cool until he could read his brother's temper. He got no reaction from Dean at all, other than an indication from his head towards the television. "What?"

The older man took a step forward, and then passed his younger sibling. "Awkward."

"Where the hell were you?" Sam shot back, hoping to move along and not dwell on his morning viewing habits, trying to keep himself from bringing up more contents of his empty stomach. He was nervous, not knowing which Dean had walked back through the door.

"I was working on my imaginary case," Dean replied with sarcasm dripping in his voice.

"Yeah, and?"

"Oh yeah, well, you were right. I didn't find much. Except Angela's boyfriend died last night. Slit his own throat, but you know _that's_ normal. Oh, let's see what else. Oh, he was seeing Angela everywhere before he died." The tirade ended for a quick second. Just enough time to turn back to Sam and lay the final blow. "But you know I'm sure that's just me transferring my own feelings."

_Ok, he's still angry. Tred lightly._

"Ok, I get it. I'm sorry. Maybe there _is_ something going on here," Sam offered, trying to make the unsaid words between the two of them easier.

And then Dean erupted, throwing his coat to the chair. "Maybe?" Sam's head snapped at the anger in Dean's tone. "Sam, I know how to do my job despite what you might think."

Sam flinched at the harsh words, thinking where best to go with his thoughts.

_Guess this isn't a good time to bring up Mom_.

Sam's stomach clenched and he knew he had to smooth this over with Dean before it continued to spiral out of control. Admit to his mistake and move on to the next level of the hunt.

"We should check out the guy's apartment."

The peace offering.

Dean sat and took his boots off methodically. "I just came from there. Pile of dead plants just like the cemetery. Hell, dead goldfish too."

"So, unholy ground?"

"Maybe," Dean began moving towards one of the shelves, pulling a book – Angela's diary – from the surface. "I'm still not getting that powerful angry spirit vibe from Angela."

And they fell into rhythm once again. Ebbs and flows of conversation; putting pieces together. Realizing they had more people to talk to and places to go. It felt like 'Dean's case' would help glue them back together little by little.

Until they met with the 'girl's' father again, and everything went to hell.

Sam watched as his brother imploded right in front of him; yelling at Dr. Mason like a criminal for bringing his daughter back from the dead.

"What's dead should stay dead!"

The anger exuded from Dean's pores as the hatred of what he believed this man had done overcame him. Sam watched the horror unfold around him as he made a quick apology to the grieving man, praying he wouldn't call the police. He followed his brother from the home, scared out of his mind.

"Stop it, that's enough, okay. Enough!" Sam chased Dean down the street with his long strides, keeping pace with the anger of each step the elder made.

"Sam, I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't. At all. Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the _crap_ out of me." Dean refused to stop to look Sam in the eye so he continued to berate him as they hurried down the sidewalk.

"Don't be overdramatic, Sam."

"You're lucky this turned out to be a real case, cause if it wasn't you would have just found something else to kill." That stopped Dean in his tracks, wondering at his brother's tirade. Sam continued, "You're on edge. You're erratic; except for when you're hunting, cause then you're downright scary." Sam paused to take a breath and take in his brother's reaction, hoping that he was finally getting through. "You're tail-spinning, man, and you _refuse_ to talk about it and you _won't_ let me help you."

"I can take care of myself, thanks," Dean replied with a snark and started the stomping once again down the street.

"No, you can't. And you know what? You're the only one who thinks you should have to," Sam's voice was now desperate to get through to his brother.

"_It's Dean. He's in so much pain." _Mary's words rung through Sam's ears.

"You don't have to handle this on your own, Dean. No one can…"

"-Sam, if you bring up Dad's death one more time I swear," Dean threatened talking over his brother, fisting his hand, ready for another go at him.

Sam placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, getting the man to stop marching down the street. "-Stop Dean, please, it's killing you. Please." Sam's brown eyes pierced into Dean as he continued. "We've already lost Dad. We've lost Mom." Sam paused slightly at her name. "I've lost Jessica. And now I'm going to lose you too?"

Dean's face betrayed him at the truth in the words. The loss they had endured. Sam watched his expression darken with every name checked off the list. Then Sam mentioned Dean's name and his demeanor returned to his cocky stance, all ground lost.

"We better get out of here before the cops come," Dean interrupted, sending Sam into an exacerbated sigh. "I hear you, _okay_? Yeah, I'm being an ass, and I'm sorry, but right now we got a freaking _zombie_ running around and we need to figure out how to kill it."

And with that, the moment had passed. They were back to the hunt. Back to the Winchester way of life. Denial. Hiding emotion so profound, it had to claw its way from deep inside the soul.

All that Sam had worked for to get through to Dean was lost with a quick dismissal. He had him until he pushed too far, unveiling his fears of losing his brother.

And Sam knew the only way to broach the subject now was to wait it out. Wait until Dean was ready, or _forced_ to be ready.

-o-o-o-o

The silence was deafening.

Sam sat in his familiar position in the passenger seat, wondering what to say. 'I'm sorry I didn't believe you about the hunt' didn't seem quite right. Sam knew he should have trusted Dean's instincts, but this hadn't been typical Dean. The drama at seeing their mother's grave had built another wall for his brother to hide behind. Another reminder of their father's death and their seemingly unending quest to kill the thing that was destroying their family – piece by piece.

More reason for Dean to hide away in his shell. More reasons for Sam to ache with his own grief and guilt. More ways to divide them.

The Demon would love how he was tearing them apart.

Sam thought he knew Dean; but now he was having doubts. Since the accident - since their father's death – this was not the same man he had been traveling around the country with. Saving people; hunting things.

This was a man broken. A man who was shutting down.

"_He has so much…. John put so much on him, it wasn't fair."_

The thoughts of the last several days were jumbled in Sam's mind. The secrets and lies that were spread between the Winchester men were like chasms. There seemed no good way to bring up what Sam now knew about their mother. Knew about himself. To share the burden and figure out the path they had to take. And as much as Sam wanted, _needed_, to talk to Dean about all of this, he knew he couldn't. Dean was still on edge and this would probably push him over.

He would have to wait. Wait for Dean.

As if on cue, the Chevy slowly rumbled to the side of the road. Sam looked to Dean who made no indication for the sudden stop. The older man got out of the car and milled about, finally settling on the edge of the hood. He sat there, perched. Waiting. Inviting his brother to talk. Sam got out of the car and wondered what brought the Impala to the standstill.

"I'm sorry." It was so gentle. So sincere. So _pained_. And Sam had no idea where this was going.

Sam stood in awe at his brother, "For what?" He shifted his feet beneath him as he hovered by the passenger door.

"The way I've been acting."

Sam came around the car and ambled to Dean's side after the apology dripped from his brother's lips. He sighed deeply, holding his broken wrist gently as he sat next to his brother, not sure the right words of comfort. So he waited. Waited for Dean.

"And for Dad."

_For Dad?_ This was _not_ what Sam was expecting. Was Dean going to tell him what their father had discovered about Sam? To finally let go the pain Dean was holding like a vice grip deep inside because of it? Finally tell him that he wasn't handling the death – at all?

Sam's heart was crushed at the defeated sound of his brother's voice. He waited, not wanting to push, learning from the last time. He was hoping to lift part of the weight from his brother's shoulders, so all he could do was wait. Sam knew how hard it was to get this far and he didn't want to scare Dean back into his shell.

"I mean, he was your dad too. And it's my fault that he's gone." Dean refused to look Sam in the eye, knowing that all conversation would halt.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you've been thinking it; so have I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out," Dean continued on, putting all the pieces together, and finally saying them out loud to the last of his family. "Back at the hospital, a full recovery. That was a _miracle_. Five minutes later Dad's dead and the Colt's gone."

_There's that word again – miracle_.

It was true, the exchange of souls had crossed Sam's mind. Finding his father, dead, splayed like a discarded piece of garbage, had been horrifying for Sam. Burned into his brain for eternity and then some. Fighting with him in his last moments. Never really suspecting they _would_ be his last. Guilt consumed him. He had admitted as much to Dean several weeks prior.

And the timing . . . it was all so suspicious; Dean's miracle recovery - his _second_ miracle - and John's death were just too coincidental to ignore. Dean was right and he knew it.

"Dean."

The confession poured out like water from a faucet; all Dean's thoughts and fears. Their father had died _in place_ of Dean, _for _Dean, and it was ripping the eldest sibling apart.

"Dad's dead because of me. And that much I _do_ know."

Sam was at a loss for words. He always considered himself empathic, but the grief that was rolling off his brother was overwhelming. Never had he felt emotion that strong from Dean. Never had he had so strong a connection with him to feel every wave.

Sorrow. Hatred. Fear. Betrayal.

Hopelessness.

"I never should have come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it." Dean voice cracked at every turn. The tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to make his confession through his frayed soul. Laying it out on the table after all this time of burying it deep inside.

"_Your father…he's not here, Sam, I'm… not exactly sure where he is." Mary looked sadly at Sam, trying to convey the information. "I feel him sometimes, but…"_

Sam watched as his brother crumbled. There was no way he could confess what his mother had told him about their father's whereabouts. Not when he put pieces together that John had died for him. How would he feel if he knew their parents had yet to be reunited?

The man Sam had come to revere, more so than anyone in his life, was just as human as the next person. Finally the emotional dam had broken to let the pain seep through. Sam wasn't sure if he could stick his finger in to stop the flood, and he certainly couldn't take a pick to the barrier with his additional knowledge.

"I was dead, and I should have stayed dead."

"_What's dead should stay dead!" God, he's been saying that through this whole hunt. He equated himself to Angela coming back from the dead. And if he knows about Mom and what happened before I was born…_

Sam's mind churned. How was he going to fix Dean with all this guilt? When would they become equals again in that he could trust Sam enough with all his thoughts and feelings?

When could he do the same for Dean?

"You wanted to know how I was feeling, well that's it. So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that alright."

And now, what could he say? Sam's life was constructed around saving Dean before he was even born – for some unknown purpose. A demonic purpose. Now their Father had died to save him. What _could_ he say to make the pain go away?

Sam turned his face from his brother as a single tear melted down Dean's face. He stifled his own emotions, knowing there was nothing.

With that, he laid a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder to let him know that he was there. Always.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi all

Hope you are well! I'm behind, again, always. I'm just bad and I apologize.

I've actually been sitting on this for a while and got a couple of nudges to push it out. This was written before the reveal in 'Hunted' so I'm still playing with the auspices of 'not knowing' what Dean knows. I had/have my theories, which fall sort of into this line of thinking, but I believe there's more. Why else would Mary say 'I'm sorry' to Sam in 'Home?' :D We'll see what happens.

In any case, I had written this before my beloved Bears were on their way to the Superbowl (can I even scream loud enough for that!!! 21 years baby!) and I just wanted to throw a little football fandom into my writing. They say 'write what you know' and I know the Bears! My poor Mike Brown...sigh. Anyway, I wanted to make the bathroom break in in 'Simon Said' seem a little more urgent (which is where this picks up), and I hope this makes it legit. :D

Oodles of thanks, as always, to Gem for the fantastic work, and my bud MaddieM for some brainstorming and critical thinking.

I do have a plan with this, I just don't have the time I'd like to really put into writing, but I am working up to more examples of my theories. This could still be legit - on some level - so until I'm completely shot down by Mr. Kripke (who owns everything - including me!) I'm going to keep it going.

I'll be posting another chapter of _Holy Cross_ as soon as I can work a few bugs out too.

Thank you all for your support and undying kindness!

;D

Caroline

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Chapter 3**

"Brian Urlacher? Really? Are you related?" The young man at the gas station held the credit card with awe, flipping it from front to back. Seeing if the signature looked anything like the _real_ Brian Urlacher. Not that the attendant had any clue what the _real_ signature looked like.

There was a moment he thought he'd been caught. Caught by a snot nosed 17-year-old punk who needed a haircut. Found out by an over-zealous football fan. _Should've used Ryan…_

It was when they were in Chicago. They'd had a little time to kill, all the guns had been cleaned, and they were getting desperately low on cash. Their supply of fresh credit cards was nil. The names that normally came to him with ease – Steven Tyler, Frank Beard, Robert Plant - were not freely flowing from his brain. He was, after all, a little distracted with The Demon coming to town and seeing their Dad for the first time in forever and nearly getting killed by the daevas. Little things like that.

The last good, non-rock star credit card name they'd had was Aframian, and that card was long gone. Tossed on the side of the road as the Impala did 80 down the stretch. He'd picked up the Chicago Tribune and ended up in the sports section. Urlacher's name had jumped out at him immediately. But he'd had three fake applications to fill, so he'd continued searching; looking for the perfect fit for their ever-changing-yet-constant lifestyle.

"Safety Mike Brown is out for the season with…' _That's a nice, easy name for an application._ Scribbling ensued.

The perusal of the paper persisted, and his eyes fell on a picture of Lovie Smith, head coach of the Chicago Bears. _Nah, I'd totally get busted, although Lovie should be my name. Especially according to the ladies…_ He'd smiled at his personal joke, continuing on for his third name.

Finally he had settled on Brad Maynard, the punter. _No one knows who the punter is!_ It'd seemed innocent enough and probably wouldn't raise any eyebrows. He knew that using Brian's name was probably a mistake, but this was America; life, liberty and the pursuit of laziness. He'd pull it off.

Until now.

"Yeah, actually. We're second cousins on his dad's side," he said making his uncomfortable scratch motion to the back of his head to kill a moment or two. "Grew up a few blocks apart," the hunter added, hoping to just get the card back and grab his brother from the bathroom. _What's taking him so long? _"I'm older, so they were always comparing him to me." He flashed his million dollar grin as he quickly snatched the card.

"Well, tell 'em we love 'em out this way. There's a bunch of us Bears fans around these parts." The young clerk almost had an inspired look about him, thinking the man in front of him was _actually_ related to the football hero.

"Will do. Thanks," he replied, throwing a quick wave and making his way out back to where his brother was still puttering around.

As soon as he was out of eyesight, Dean booked to the bathroom around back, knowing that the clerk would start spouting off. Who knew what that would bring?

Dean neared the grungy, once-white bathroom door that now was a sickening pale shade of yellow. It seemed some folk didn't even make it to the toilet, they chose to write their names on the outside wall instead. And if it wasn't in yellow, it was scrawled in black spray paint. Latin Kings, Vice Lords; it was all here. _Lovely décor_.

And the smell… well that was another thing.

Dean could see from the outside that the bathroom door didn't even lock, which, in this case, would be to his advantage. Memories of a glued bottle to his hand became prominent in his mind as he neared the entrance. Dean could never pass up an opportunity to embarrass his little brother, and it was sure there was no one else in there with him to make for an 'awkward' moment. A smile passed his lips as he thought of the terror that would befall Sam – whether he was standing _or_ sitting.

He grabbed the door handle, announcing his presence with a loud cry:

"Sam, come on. Zip it up let's hit the…"

_Not_ what he was expecting.

There, crouched over the sink's running water, stood his brother, dripping wet from a personal hand shower. Sam's hair was slicked with the liquid and beads dripped down his nose to the dirty basin. Dean could hear a slight panting, almost pre-hyperventilation, coming from Sam's chest. His face was contorted in pain or fright – Dean wasn't sure which. And his eyes…

Something was definitely wrong.

"…road," Dean continued as he looked Sam over. "What?"

He shook himself from the reverie and rushed to Sam's side, quickly assessing the damages. They didn't have time to speculate his latest vision – and Dean was relatively sure that's what had just happened – so he grabbed his ailing sibling, careful not to jostle his newly casted wrist, and hurried him to the car; away from prying eyes and curious football fans.

Once settling Sam in the Impala, Dean tore out of the parking lot, leaving only dust behind. The further away they could get from the rat-infested hell-hole, the better off they'd be.

Dean stole a glance at his shaken brother. Sam hadn't had a vision since before the Demon arrived in Salvation. At least to his knowledge. He furrowed his brow at the thought. Curiosity was eating him from the inside out, but he waited until he knew Sam was ready. Calm. Waited to hear what had happened, knowing full well that it had something to do with their yellow-eyed fiery friend.

Although, Dean wasn't sure if he was quite ready to meet him face to face again.

After a bit of amiable silence, Sam finally announced he wanted to head back to Roadhouse to pick Ash's brain – to see if they could decipher the events of the vision. To get some additional information from Ellen.

Dean had to hold himself together.

_Why is Sam running to Ash? And Ellen?_

As the hunters made their way through the Nebraska landscape, Dean waited for his brother to spill, looking for more details of the daytime nightmare. They drove in silence as Dean mused over why Sam would want to go to someone else for assistance.

Dean had said some awful things to Sammy; things they never spoke of after the Impala was ventilated in Bobby's junkyard. Things he couldn't take it back.

Things he'd meant.

"_These are _your_ issues, quit dumping 'em on me." Dean paused as they walked along the dirt road outside Medford, Wisconsin._

"_What are you talking about?" asked Sam in an awed tone._

_Dean continued his lashing out, letting his brother know exactly how he felt about Sam's sudden change of heart about hunting. "I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, 'oh, what would Dad want me to do?'" He could see the pain he was causing his brother but continued his personal catharsis. "Sam, you spent your _entire_ life sluggin' it out with that man. I mean hell, you picked a _fight_ with him the last time you ever saw him. And _now_ that he's dead, _now_ you want to make it right? Well I'm sorry Sam, it's too little, too late."_

_He saw it all. All the pain, the confusion. The impending tears._

_And he felt no guilt at the words._

"_Why are you saying this to me?" Sam croaked out in reply, swallowing the larger-than-life Adam's apple that was slowly choking him._

_Dean raised his voice to continue his tirade. "Because, I want you to be _honest_ with yourself about this. I'm _dealing_ with Dad's death... Are _you_?"_

It was all too much, and the only way for Dean to wrap his head around their father's death, and his parting words, was to push Sammy away. Keep him at bay so Dean wouldn't break into a million little pieces. He knew he had hurt Sam, but that was what was necessary for the moment.

They'd be alright again. In time.

So it made sense that Sam wanted to be around Ellen; a woman he felt a maternal connection to. It was only natural for Sam to want to fill the void with someone – _anyone_ – who could offer him support. Someone who their father had known and trusted. Someone to give Sam the gentle touch he so craved.

Stabs of both guilt and anger hit Dean as he realized he did not have the relationship with Sammy he once had. So much, _too_ _much_, had happened. Dean had been pushing his brother away; not being truthful.

Dean was consumed with his own guilt and pain; realization after realization of what was going on around him. What had happened to him in Missouri and what was left of his tattered soul. He didn't have room for Sam's pain and suffering and he was still angry about Sam's sudden undying loyalty to hunting. He knew the kid was hurting, finding whatever means he could to fill the gaps in his guilt-ridden spirit, but Dean just couldn't accept Sam's pain in addition to his. Sam would have to deal on his own.

The burden of their father's last words to him was another story, but Dean could only do one thing at a time.

Truth be told, it was still freaking Dean out – to the point where it was easier to not be around Sam at times. He was always afraid he would say something to tip Sam off. Dean had promised his father that he would not tell Sammy what he now knew. He pledged that he would watch out for Sammy. That was his father's last request, and no matter how he was feeling inside about everything going on around him, he would fulfill that promise to John Winchester.

As a hunter, and as a son.

Worry mode for his little brother was now back in full-swing, especially after the latest vision. Sam was vulnerable. Hell, so was Dean, but when Sam announced his need to consult with Ash, he still had his doubts about bringing his brother back to the lion's den.

Dean wasn't sure why John had not told them about the Roadhouse, or about Ellen, but there had to be a reason. And that's what made Dean's stomach churn.

"I don't know man, why don't we just chill out, think about this." Dean finally found his voice after his inner monologuing.

Sam turned the radio off and turned to his brother.

"What's there to think about?" Sam replied with determination in his voice. He had finally calmed his nerves and settled himself. He was ready to take on this vision and he knew that Ash, computer genius extraordinaire, would be the one to help them.

"I just don't know if going to the Roadhouse is the smartest idea."

_And I'm not quite sure I'm ready to bring more into the fold just yet_. _Who are these people, really?_

"Dean, it's another premonition, I know it. This is _gonna_ happen and Ash can tell us where."

"Yeah man, but…"

Sam interrupted him and continued on his thought process. "Plus it can have some connection with the demon. My visions always do."

And all the fears came crashing back. Everything Dean was trying to keep from his brother. The weight of the world on his shoulders.

"That's my point, there's gonna be _hunters_ there. I don't know if going in and announcing that you're some supernatural _freak_ with a demonic connection is the best thing, okay?"

_That came out a little harsher than I had intended_.

A ripple went through Sam's belly with those stabbing words. His personal knowledge consuming him. Guilt at what he had not been able to tell his brother regarding their mother. He looked to Dean with hurt eyes, wondering at the statement he'd just made.

"So, I'm a freak now?" The underscoring pain laced the question as Sam gazed at his brother.

Dean knew he'd screwed up, and internally sighed. He glanced quickly at Sam to see if the words had struck him as hard as he feared. Sam's mouth was slightly agape and he knew he had spewed the words too quickly and without thinking.

_Shit._

So he did the only thing he could do; slap on his million dollar smile and turn it into a joke.

"You've always been a freak." Dean raised his hand and smacked his brother's knee with a sting that he knew went further than Sam's skin. It was the best he could do after his comment. It was Dean's way.

Sam watched in fascination and horror as the scene played out in front of him. His brother was scared _of_ him. Not just _for_ him. For the first time he saw it; the secret their father had told Dean was trickling out. He saw the cover-up with the joke, but the underscore was there. And his heart sank.

Dean had called it a demonic connection, so John had made that official correlation, Sam realized. But why was Dean afraid of letting other hunters know about it? Didn't they want help to destroy this demon? Wasn't that why John had met with Ellen in the first place? He had gone to the Roadhouse for help, so it would stand to reason that John's children should reap those rewards as well.

_Why is Dean against this? What else does he know?_

All Sam could do was stare at his brother as Dean's eyes now remained glued to the road as the Impala rumbled onward.

-o-o-o-o-

From the moment Dr. Badass - a.k.a. Ash - was on the job, Dean knew it was trouble. Now they had opened their personal lives, _Sam's_ life, to the world of the hunter. Dean was still making his threat assessment of the Harvell's, and while Ash was certainly a genius, he wasn't sure how much he could trust him. Being bought for a beer did not bode well for the young man's loyalty.

Giving the description of the demon's M.O. to Ash was a risk that Dean didn't want to take, but Sam had barreled through without asking Dean's opinion after his latest vision took hold. While there were no signs of the actual Demon in Blue Ridge, Oregon, the profile for the 'children of the Demon' rang true. The fire in Andrew Gallagher's nursery on his six month birthday had even caught Jo's attention, and Dean thought that that scared him most of all.

The parallels could not be ignored as they realized more and more of these children were popping up. And Sam was connecting to more and more of them. The 'awake' visions were always related to the Demon, or a child of the Demon, and they were always surrounded in death. Violent death.

A tale of what was to come for Sam?

Sam felt the pull to get to Blue Ridge and stop this. Stop what was happening, again. He knew he couldn't make it through another loss like the Millers back in Saginaw. Watching them die was one of the most painful physical experiences he'd ever had. Then, to include Dean in the death visions while locked in the closet was one of the most frightening. That spurred the telekinesis burst. The one that had saved his brother from Max's gun.

The one that scared the hell out of Dean.

But it couldn't save Dean from the pain at the cabin.

The Demon had taunted Sam there; giving him just enough information to reveal that it knew exactly what was going on. Preparing Sam for his destiny. And letting him know that Sam could do nothing to stop it.

It made Sam suffer, both emotionally and physically, through the Barbarian torture of his brother, and his father. The Demon took pleasure from Sam's pain and his inability to save his family.

Relished it.

Teased Sam with just enough knowledge to spur his quest to continue to search for it and the other children. Trying to find the answers he so desperately craved.

Knowing where it would ultimately lead.

Somehow, Sam felt, _knew_, this latest child would provide some answers, one way or another.

But how was Andrew Gallagher involved in this? It seemed a sure bet he was the cause of this man's death. How many more people would Sam have to watch die because of his connection? Because of Mary's choice before she knew she had one.

-o-o-o-o-o

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The young woman at the cafe poured coffee and gave a brief background on Andy's luck with debt collectors, whom she assumed Sam and Dean were, based on their 'professional' appearance. It seemed that Andy had an uncanny ability to talk his way out of anything. And after a short outburst from the busboy, Webber, stating that Andy was able to get him backstage at Aerosmith like it was nothing, it seemed they indeed had their man.

She pointed them to Orchard Street, an area Andy was known to frequent. They were only given the description of the van to go on, but had no trouble finding it. How could you miss a Barbarian queen riding a polar bear?

Immediately, Sam got a bad feeling about the scenario. He waited anxiously for Andy to appear so he could get a better read on the man. If he was indeed like Max Miller, they would have to be careful. There was no telling what Andy's 'gift' was and Sam didn't like walking into the situation without more information.

On the other hand, Sam felt a drive to talk with Andy, see what he was like. While Max was ten kinds of wrong, he knew the young man would have been a different person with some guidance and love. Would things have turned out the way they did if Max had a different childhood? Would he and Sam have met under different circumstances, trying to discover their destinies together?

Instead, Sam had watched Max turn the gun on himself and end the pain of his lifetime of suffering. The pain that wracked Sam's own brain, especially after the visit from their mother.

Lost in introspection of what this meant on a larger scale, Dean caught his brother in his usual unhappy facial expression. "What's wrong," he started, hoping to get a little more from Sam than he had over the past few days, suddenly feeling his brother shutting down around him.

"Nothing."

"Sam, you look like you're sucking on a lemon. What's going on?"

Sam sighed and began his diatribe. "This Andrew Gallagher. He's the second guy like this we've found, Dean. Demon came to them when they were kids. Now they're killing people..."

This sent Dean immediately on the defensive and a cold sensation ate through his spine. While he wasn't sure what they had stumbled onto, Dean could certainly see where this conversation was headed, and that was dangerous ground. "We don't know what Andrew Gallagher is, okay? Could be innocent."

But Sam persisted, pointing to the fact that his visions were always connected to the Demon, and that equation only meant bad things for one Andy Gallagher. He was one step closer to being like Max; being a murderer.

The 'special children' would grow to be something more… but what? Killers? It was only a matter of time before Sam found out first hand.

Dean wanted to veer as far away from the conversation and his body language screamed it. The words of his father still rang in his ears, and the last thing he wanted was for his brother to be echoing them in any form at all. He refused to believe what Sam was pushing about becoming a murderer himself, but when hunting and killing evil came up, he knew he wouldn't win the battle with his little brother's conscience. Killing was killing in this argument and his gut tore at him, wishing he'd never opened his mouth in the first place.

And there was a real possibility that Sam, _his_ Sam, would in fact be tempted by the dark side. But Dean knew that he could stop it from happening. Nothing was going to get to his little brother.

Dean turned his head from Sam, creasing his brow, hoping that at least a small part of what he'd said, what he'd been trying to do to protect him, had actually made it through Sam's thick skull. A quick pang of guilt swept through him as he realized by pushing Sam away over the last few weeks, he'd had nothing to do _except_ think about the Demon's plans for him.

He didn't have time to think about it for long, though. Suddenly, Andy emerged from an apartment building, making his way back to his mobile 'love shack,' stopping along the way to gather a cup of coffee from a guy on the street. Then Sam spotted the shooter from his vision and they decided to split – Sam tailing the older man and Dean following Andy.

Sam was determined to stop this seemingly blameless man from killing the store owner and himself. He wanted to stop Andy from killing, too, even if he didn't know when or where it would happen. He felt that maybe if he did so, he could find a way to get through to him – save him. He didn't want Andy to have the same fate as Max.

And he didn't want to befall that fate himself.

Sam pulled the fire alarm of the local gun store from his vision and disrupted the owner's fate. _One down, one to go. _He swiftly fled the scene and made his way to the sidewalk to make sure that everything followed the new plan.

The next thing he knew, Sam heard the rumble of the Impala, only to look up to see Andy at the wheel, chatting on the phone. Sam, fearing for his brother's safety, called to hear a stunned Dean confessing that he'd given the Impala to Andy because he'd asked for it.

Mind control.

_Shit!_

This new information understandably pulled Sam's attention from the once-shooter, who was on a haphazard collision course with a speeding Blue Ridge bus.

Screams filled the air as the docile man lay in the street.

And Sam watched in horror as his vision had the same end result.

He raced to the man's side, knowing what he would find. Guilt consumed him as he realized, once again, that his 'gift' had failed him.

"Call 911," Sam called to the nearest gawker who scurried off at his request. He laid his hand gently on what was left of the man. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you." The young hunter rose, unsteadily, and made his way to the curb, realizing there was nothing left to do but wait for the police.

Nothing to do but watch the Demon's plans come to fruition.

_Oh God…_

Death and destruction were everywhere Sam turned. The visions taunted him; knowing the outcome would still be the same and there would be nothing he could do about it. He could almost feel the laughter tickling the back of his mind as the Demon put each piece of the puzzle in place.

Sam could feel everything around him slipping away. The only thing that made this job worthwhile was the ability to help people, to _save_ them.

And Sam failed again.

His mind swirled as it kicked into overdrive; he was losing himself in his remorse. The conversation with Dean in the car had done nothing to ease his worries. In fact, it garnered strength. Sam felt Dean's bones chill as they started the conversation about Andy and the 'Chosen' going dark side. Dean tried everything he could to stave himself from the realities around him. But Sam knew. He _felt_ it. It poured from Dean like water over a dam.

Since his mother's visit, Sam finally understood what had happened; why he knew Dean was still around at the hospital, his spirit battered but not gone. The connection. It was there – always. Sometimes it was much stronger, like in the car, and certainly at the hospital. Sam was now picking up on Dean's _emotions_ to boot, which explained why Sam was having such a hard time shaking himself free from the guilt of their father's death. He had it times two.

Dean would never forgive himself for their father's death. It was out of his control that John Winchester had made the deal with the Demon, but Dean would never see it that way. He would kick himself silly, trying to figure out another 'what if' scenario that would end with all three Winchesters alive and well.

And that pain radiated from Dean on a constant basis.

Sam's guilt came from his misunderstanding of their father; not knowing why he did the things he did. Needing to question his motives and calculations. Fighting with him non-stop whenever they were within eyesight. All those instances came crashing back to him as he saw his father splayed on the hospital floor. He didn't remember the few moments of laughter of childhood; he remembered one fight after another. And now he just wanted to do right by their father. He wanted to honor his memory by following through and killing the Demon.

It took John's death to bring it into perspective for Sam.

So Sam wandered through the days, riddled with his own guilt and consumed by Dean's – both the physical and the emotional that drew him like a moth to flame.

It was overwhelming.

Sam wanted more than anything to tell Dean about his visit with their mother. To get everything out on the table: Dean's guilt and Sam's fears and the dark future they were facing. Together they could try and come up with their next steps to fight the Demon.

To heal.

But Dean was still being stubborn, and Sam didn't think he was ready to listen. This whole job spooked Dean on such a large scale, it was palpable. Hell, anytime a vision was involved, it cranked the job up to another scale.

Reminding Sam that Dean still thought he was a freak. He'd said so!

In addition, he knew Dean was furious that they had gone to the Roadhouse, but he hadn't given Sam much choice. Sam needed _somewhere_ to go that felt anything like a home. Some place where people would give him support. It wasn't that Dean wasn't enough--Dean just had no more to give, and Sam knew it. Couldn't ask him for more.

Sam looked to the body splayed in the middle of the street as his scattered, devastating thoughts skittered through his head. Tears slid down his face as the paramedics rushed to the scene to try to revive the man. Everything seemed to go in slow motion around him.

Then, a hand at his back.

He knew it was Dean without turning around. He could sense him. Dean just had a familiar way about him, and Sam was so grateful for just that slight bit of normalcy with his brother that he cried a little more, realizing how much he'd been missing over the last several weeks without his brother there. Sam didn't realize how much he had missed, _needed_, Dean's touch. Even as insignificant as a warm pressure. It gave him the strength he needed to pull himself back together.

The summary of what happened spilled from Sam's mouth as Dean listened. They decided to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible, given the light of the situation.

First things first, they needed to find the Impala, and fast. And luck was on their side as it was parked in the open with keys in the ignition ready to go.

As Dean checked it over, anger swirled through Sam at the thought of this 'special child' messing with his brother. The Impala was Dean's baby - his prized possession - and fear had ripped through him as he saw Andy driving it carelessly down the street, thinking something had happened to Dean.

They decided they needed a little more information, but that the commands for the mind control were definitely verbal. Sam wondered who else Andy would go after, but Dean was not convinced that he was their guy.

"Dean, you had OJ convicted before he got out of his white Bronco and you have doubts about this?

"He doesn't seem like the stone cold killer type, that's all. You know. And OJ was guilty!"

"Either way, how are we going to track this guy down?"

They easily found his van and broke in, surprised at what they found inside. Dean was awed by the 70's-style mobile pad, while Sam remarked about his heavy reading interests.

Andy Gallagher was certainly a mystery.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The only thing they could do was wait; go on their own personal stakeout to see what Andy's next move would be. Dean stuffed his face in the driver's seat of his safe-again baby, and Sam toiled over the mounds of information he had discovered. Dean was still in the 'it's not Andy' camp, and it was starting to piss Sam off.

Suddenly their prey was perched next to Sam, hanging through the window and demanding an explanation. Wanting to know who they were. Sam started to spew their cover story about being lawyers, like the professional he was, while beside him Dean expelled the truth.

"We hunt demons," Dean shot out with a pained look on his face.

A flabbergasted Sam looked back and him. "Dean!"

"Demons and spirits. Things your worst nightmare wouldn't even touch. Sam here, he's my brother…"

"Dean, shut up!"

"I'm trying….He's psychic, kinda like you, well not really like you but see, he thinks you're a murderer and he's afraid he's gonna become one himself., cause you're all part of something that's terrible and I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that me might be right."

Sam was in shock. He watched as his brother helplessly spilled his inner thoughts about what was going on.

A glimpse of what their father had told him.

Andy had heard enough, and it was scaring him to no end. "Okay, just leave me alone."

"Alright," forced Dean as he pulled his hand to his head in pain.

Sam looked back and forth, trying to decide which problem he needed to take care of first. He opted for Andy and rushed himself out after him.

The mind control wasn't working on the tall stranger, and Andy pushed further and harder with his mind to stop the advancing giant.

"It doesn't seem to work on me, Andy," Sam said pressing to the man. "You can make people do things can't you? You can tell them what to think." To say Sam was a little freaked out by that whole concept--that he was somehow immune to Andy when Dean clearly hadn't been--was an understatement. Yet another concept he didn't have time to deal with at the moment.

Andy was flabbergasted as the imposing man rattled off an overview of his life since his twenty-second birthday. He wanted to believe that someone else really understood what had happened to him; that it had happened to _them_ as well, but it couldn't be true.

Sam saw the mistrust beginning to fade as he found all the right buttons to push to let Andy know he knew all about him. He knew he would get him to confess to the murder of Dr. Jennings.

"Why did you tell the doctor to walk in front of a bus?" spat Sam, taking hold of his advantage.

"What?"

Pain erupted from Sam's core out of nowhere as he got a flash of woman on fire. She was intermixed with Andy's face staring back at him. The world was starting to go hazy.

A vision.

Sam persisted with the questioning despite the throbbing in his head. He pushed again, hoping that Andy would break and they would solve their murder.

"Why did you kill him?"

"I didn't," Andy insisted, looking truly confused at the accusations flying towards him. Then he saw the giant of a man grab his head and warp his features in pain as he slowly slid to the ground.

Dean raced to Sam's side as he watched the vision take hold, destroying his baby brother from the inside. "Sam, what is it?"

Sam's face continued to contort as the scene unfolded before him. He watched in horror as the blonde victim doused herself in gasoline, lighting herself on fire. The young attendant watched in horror as he shouted for her to stop.

Andy stood in shock as he watched the interaction between the two brothers, fearful that the older would turn on him, especially after what happened in the car. "I didn't do anything to him," he insisted.

The young psychic balled on the ground as he unveiled the latest torture in his mind. "A woman. A woman burning alive," he managed as the pain finally started to recede from his vision. He pressed his eyes and told Dean the rest of the scenario, ending with the revelation of the phone call to her cell. He turned his deadly gaze to Andy.

There was no time frame, but it was clear the call set everything into motion. "As long as we keep our eyes on this son of a bitch he can't hurt her."

"I didn't hurt anybody," pleaded Andy, still trying to figure out what was going on.

"Yeah, not yet."

Behind them, a fire truck raced by. The brothers exchanged a fearful look of being too late.

"Go," Sam instructed Dean as his stomach dropped to the floor. The older brother nodded and headed towards the Impala. Andy made to follow when he was stopped cold. "No, not you. You're staying here with me."

The stalemate played on until Sam got Dean's confirmation of what he already knew. The woman died, painfully, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Again.

Dean knew it wasn't Andy who was causing the deaths. He knew his gut wouldn't prove him wrong. He just had to convince his little brother. "Listen, you were with Andy when this whole thing went down, so it can't be him. It's gotta be somebody else doing this."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sam interjected, but feeling like Dean might be right. It was true that the man was right there with him and he had certainly not made a call. Maybe it really wasn't him…

"What else is new," added Dean with a snark. "I'll dig around here, see what else I can find." He flipped the phone off.

Sam turned to look at Andy, deciding where he wanted to go with his next line of questioning; needing to know as much about the man before him.

"So, Andy, tell me about yourself."

-o-o-o-o-o-

It didn't take long for Sam to lessen his suspicion of Andy. While he still wasn't sure that he was innocent, it was hard _not_ to like the guy. Slowly the walls came down as the men passed the time.

Andy Gallagher, like Sam, was your _normal_ high school geek. Got made fun of for his love of books. Got beat up because he wasn't a jock. But somehow, he always took it in stride.

"'_Man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world - and defines himself afterwards_.' That was always one of my favorite quotes. It helped me get through a lot," Andy remarked as he and Sam compared their book smarts.

"Jean-Paul Sartre, _Existentialism is a Humanism." _Sam nodded in agreement. "That seems oddly appropriate for you and I, don't you think?" Sam added with a sad chuckle. "Here we are, two freaks of nature trying to make our way, but the more we try to define ourselves, the more we are being defined."

Andy liked having someone to talk to about the books he absorbed. Tracy was a wonderful companion. She loved the quotes and the discussions about philosophy and religion, but she didn't have the passion for the words like Andy did. Then, as things started to change for Andy after turning twenty-two, he knew that he had to let her go. Something told him that she wasn't safe around him anymore, and he cared too much for her to let anything happen.

The conversation with Sam (since they had been formally introduced) was a refreshing change to the lonely nights in the back of his van with Ludwig Wittgenstein's theories on logic and the philosophy of the mind. Sam was highly intelligent and could debate with Andy on any subject he brought up.

As they waited for Dean to return, Sam decided to venture further into the mysteries of their own lives. He told Andy about the Demon – at least what they knew about it – and what it had been doing. Sam mentioned Max and a quiver came through his voice. He hoped that Andy would not succumb to the same evil that Max had. That the Demon really _hadn't_ gotten to Andy and that he _was_ telling the truth about not knowing anything.

Andy squirmed a little as curiosity consumed him. He just accepted his 'gifts' as such after he turned twenty-two, but now, he was wondering what was actually going on. Who he was. And if anyone could fill him in, it would be the stranger before him.

"Hey, Sam? Why did these 'powers' come to fruition after our twenty second birthdays?"

Sam pondered Andy's questions, as he'd done some research on this subject. "I have no idea. We've been trying to figure it all out, and we've found nothing concrete," Sam began; still frustrated he didn't have more information. "I've looked into numerology and the number twenty-two is the most powerful number. There are twenty-two letters in the original Hebrew alphabet, and the trumps of Tarot cards are based on twenty-two," 'Geek Boy' began, eyes lighting up. Once he realized that Andy would really appreciate the research he'd done, Sam went to town.

"The number represents a high idealism and wanting the best for the world, but the negative aspects of it include criminal intent and revolutionary action, so it's a double-edged sword." Sam barely took a breath as he continued. "It also carries psychic gifts like intuition, awareness and heightened sensitivity, along with high intelligence and power on all levels. So, it's a pretty significant number."

Andy furrowed his brow and looked back to Sam. "And you know all this why? And how?"

A smile crept along Sam's lips as he snorted a reply. "It's kinda my job. I like research."

"Yeah… okay," Andy answered sarcastically. "So our twenty second birthdays 'unleashed' our 'powers?' To do what? What does this all mean?"

"I don't know," replied Sam. "But my brother and I are trying to figure all this out. We thought we had corned the yellow-eyed son of a bitch, but then everything went wrong. Now I don't know what to do anymore."

A sadness overcame Sam as he realized this was the longest conversation he'd had in weeks. _Philosophy of Women's Smokin' Anatomy_ was probably the closest Sam and Dean would ever get to a 'deep' conversation, not that he minded, but this felt really good. He also felt all the emotions washing back over him of the events they'd endured.

"Hey, are you alright?" Andy asked sincerely.

Sam looked up at Andy with his two-second smile and his eyes tore back to the gravel. "It's been….it's been a hard couple of weeks is all. We're just working out way through everything."

"What happened?"

The young hunter sighed deeply, knowing that he wanted to just spill his guts right then and there, and it had nothing to do with Andy's abilities. Sam wanted to tell anyone who was willing to listen everything that had gone on with Dean, the Demon, their father. Their mother. But he didn't know anything about Andy, really. How could he just open up and vent his spleen to the unsuspecting outsider? Andy had enough of his own mental mojo going on; he didn't need Sam's issues on top of them. Plus, even though he liked the guy, he didn't know how much he could actually trust him, at least with the whole unvarnished truth. He hadn't even been able to tell Dean yet, and telling a stranger before his brother just seemed...wrong.

But suddenly…

"We lost our dad a several weeks back. It was _the_ Demon," Sam began pensively, testing the waters. "We got rammed by a semi and Dean ended up in a coma; hanging by a thread. He probably wouldn't have made it, but Dad swapped his life for Dean's. Made a deal with the Demon and all hell has broken loose since." Sam leaned his body back on the seat, deciding whether to continue.

The silence from Andy gave Sam the go-ahead he so craved.

"Dean… he won't talk to me about it. About anything. Our dad was his idol, you know? He never questioned him. Well, he did near the end, but he just... He has this crushing guilt about what happened," Sam paused to collect himself, feeling release as he spoke about it to someone. "We both do." His eyes hit the gravel below his feet as he paused. Sam kicked about a bottle cap that lay unsuspecting on the ground and chanced a quick look up to Andy who sat there, open-mouthed, gaping at Sam.

He had no idea what to say or do.

Sam huffed at the non-response. "I know, it's a lot to take in," Sam replied to Andy, pulling his fingers through his chocolate locks. "It's what we do, hunting evil. The family business. But you already knew that…from Dean…in the car."

Andy snapped from his reverie as he considered the incident. He paused as he looked at Sam who suddenly seemed so small and broken. And he was the cause of it.

"Yeah, man, sorry about that. I imagine those really weren't the words you needed to hear right about then. But I didn't know what you wanted with me. It was a defense mechanism," Andy apologized, feeling his own guilt at the discomfort of both brothers.

Sam twisted on the seat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "I know you were just protecting yourself, but when you asked Dean to tell the truth, I never expected the verbal vomit that came out." He picked at his cast absently, avoiding Andy's stare.

"You can't really take something like that back."

Sam nodded at the painful truth. "No, there's certainly no 'do over' for words like that." He looked around at the abandoned cars strewn in the lot, finding focus on the fence that kept them in, feeling trapped. "He knows more than he's telling me. About everything. Thinks we're going to become evil, you and I. I just can't…"

The hunter rose from the bench, needing to feel the circulation in his legs once again. To remind himself that the numbness he was feeling was only in his soul. Sam paced a bit, feeling Andy's eyes watch him, but not out of fear; out of concern.

"To some extent, Dean's right. Something _big_ is going down, and we're part of it. Somehow." Sam did not turn to face Andy, but bowed his head, placing it against the fence.

"Dean and I, we have a connection. That's why this has been so painful," he whispered, barely above the breeze. "I never really realized it until after the crash. At times, I heard him, _felt_ him, roaming the hospital when he was in the coma. He died and I _heard_ him fighting the reaper. It's…I can't explain." Sam's eyes welled with tears as the words spilled from his lips. "Since then, something's come alive, and I _feel_ it. His emotions are so raw…" Sam stopped himself and looked to the road, watching the cars going by. Listening for any sign of the Impala.

"Wait. What? You can feel his pain?" Andy gaped, trying to comprehend what Sam was telling him.

"Okay, Bill Clinton," Sam tried, lightening the mood, amazed that he'd spilled as much as he had with Andy. He turned back to face him and sighed. "Yeah. It radiates from him, and I'm like a homing beacon for it. I just need him…"

"To open up to you and talk about it," Andy finished for him.

Sam nodded, grateful that he understood, finding his knees weak. He made his way back to the seat

"What are you going to do?" Andy questioned, thankful that his problems weren't quite as complicated as the brothers Winchester.

"Honestly? I have no clue. Dean lied to me. He said dad didn't say anything about the Demon and his plans for me…for us," Sam corrected. "But I know he did." He looked to Andy, trying to hit the point home that he was a part of this as well.

"But what if you confront him about it? Force him to talk?" Andy's eyes gleamed a bit as he hoped the Sam would connect the dots.

Sam looked to Andy, understanding the meaning, but sadness fell upon him again. "I can't. It's just… it's not fair to him. I know he's already killing himself over what he said in the car. The guilt came off him in droves. To force the rest out of him would breach our trust even farther. I want him to be able to talk to me about it and not have me dying in his arms to tell me the truth, you know?

"I just want my brother back…"

They sat in amiable silence for a few minutes, wondering where to pick up. Andy figured he'd cut the wind song and ask the extent of Sam's 'gift.'

So Sam told him.

"Death visions? Dude, that sucks."

Sam smiled at the honesty behind the words. Andy was really taking this much better than he'd thought he would.

"When I got my mind thing, it was like a gift. Like I won a lotto."

A perplexed looked crossed Sam's face as he continued on the conversation. "But you still live in a van. I don't get it, I mean, you could have anything you've ever wanted."

Andy shrugged, "I've got everything I need."

Realization dawned on Sam. After talking with him, interviewing his perp, he finally felt sure that Andy was not to blame for the murder of Dr. Jennings. "So you're really not a killer?"

He knew now. But it still didn't hurt to ask.

The sigh of relief came out in Andy's entire body as those words were spoken. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

The rumbling of the Impala came from the distance, signaling the return of Dean and hopefully answers for all of them. "That's good. Maybe there's hope for both of us."

The creak of the doors grabbed their attention as Dean sauntered up to the two men, starting to fill in some of the missing pieces of Sam's vision.

"Apparently, Holly Becket gave birth when she was 18 years old back in 1983. Same day you were born, Andy," announced Dean giving a side-look to Sam.

"Andy, were you adopted?" questioned Sam.

The skittish young man answered in the positive. Dean mentioned that he was unable to get the birth records due to their lock-down at the county office. Andy smiled at the impending request.

A short time later, the boys were looking through the birth records that were made available to them by the kindly old man at the front desk. "Andy, it's true. Holly Beckett was your birth mother. Dr. Jennings was her doctor, too. He oversaw the adoption. You have a solid connection to both of them."

"Yeah but, I didn't kill them," stuttered Andy, suddenly afraid they wouldn't believe him. Again.

"We believe you," answered Dean, reading Andy's mind. He stole a glance at his brother who also agreed. "But, who did?"

Sam was still rifling through paperwork, looking at all the data before him. This was his forte, after all. "I think I have a pretty good guess. Holly Beckett gave birth to twins."

Andy had a sudden green hue to him as he took in the new information. He looked unsteady on his feet and immediately sat himself on the nearest chair. "I have an evil twin."

Dean came behind Sam and looked at what had gotten his brother so enthralled. "Hate to kick you while you're freaked. Take a look at that."

The face before him rocked his world. It was the busboy from the restaurant, Webber.

Panic surround every fiber in Andy's being. All his fears about Tracy being in danger because of him had now come to fruition. They hurried to the car, intent on preventing another tragedy from happening.

They were making their game plan, discussing all the relevant information about Webber as the first flash assaulted Sam. He grabbed at his head as the plot unfolded in his vision. It encompassed Sam and tore through him, forcing Dean to pull over to get him to focus and breathe.

It was Tracy and she was in danger. Webber had her at the Lake Guthrie dam and he had every intention of having her jump.

They raced to the scene, coming to a stop far enough back that Webber wouldn't hear them. Sam and Andy grabbed munitions, leaving Dean to take up the role as sharp-shooter and out of the range of any additional mind pushing.

Sam approached the side of the car, seeing Webber control Tracy. Without a thought, he crashed through the window with his cast, clocking Webber in the face. Andy grabbed a terrified Tracy and pulled her from the car. She was hysterical and it ate away at Andy.

Before he realized it, Andy was on Webber and after duct taping his mouth shut, he began punching and kicking him for what he had done. A startled Sam had to grab Andy and keep him back. That was all the time the evil twin needed to make his move.

Tracy slowly picked up a piece of wood lying on the ground and with all her might smashed the back of Sam's head, causing him to fall into darkness….

-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam heard voices, coming in and out. He tried to focus, but his head was pounding. He blinked several times, trying to find his center, but the throbbing was unbearable. Sam placed his head back to the ground, hoping the non-movement would still the thumping.

"…he said I had to wait until the time…"

"Who?"

"The man with the yellow eyes," the voice said as if Andy should know.

Sam tried hard to center on the dialogue. Tried to piece together more of this puzzle.

"What are you talking about?"

"He came to me, in my dream. He said I was special. He told me he's got big plans for me. Wait til you see what's in store, Andy for both of us…."

Sam tried to pull himself up, but the strength of the hit, obviously powered by Webber's mind control, put him under again…

Then, a shot.

Sam struggled again and found Webber in a puddle of blood and Andy holding a smoking gun.

_Andy, no…_

Despite Sam's best efforts, Andy was a killer now, too.

-o-o-o-o

By morning, the place was crawling with police and paramedics. Tracy was huddled in the back of an ambulance. Sam had refused official treatment, but a lone EMT went and looked at him anyway.

The brothers watched as Andy worked his magic, telling the police exactly what he wanted them to report, leaving Sam and Dean out of it, and clearing himself of all wrong-doing.

Suddenly all the trust he'd built up with Andy the day before came crashing down. Andy was coming into his powers. _Really_ enjoying them. They were going to have to keep tabs on him.

"Look at him. He's getting better at it," Sam said to Dean.

They watched as he approached them, solemn. Tracy was afraid of him now, not even making eye contact as he walked past. There was no going back after last night. After she learned he was as much of a freak as Webber.

Sam looked with pity and remorse at Andy. This was old hat for the Winchester family, but Andy had no idea what was in store.

The mixed emotions that poured over Sam shone on his face as he knitted his brow. Finally, he gave Andy his cell number and said to call if anything came up. The brothers turned to leave as he called after them, looking for some kind of guidance to get him through the ordeal.

"You be good, Andy, or we'll be back," warned Dean as they turned and walked toward the Impala.

Sam was overwhelmed by all of it; too many pieces missing to really form a theory. All the research, all the conversations did nothing to ease his worries about what was to come. And how he could overcome the past.

In addition, there was so much emotional confusion flowing from Dean – fear, regret, concern. All directed at Sam. All hitting him square in the heart.

Oh yes, Sam was getting better at it, too.

When he spoke, Sam opened himself up. He wanted to really know how Dean felt about the matter at hand; the escalation of their impending battle with the Demon and what all these children meant.

The 'Chosen' were dangerous. And every one of them had their breaking points.

"Right circumstances, everyone's capable of murder. Everyone," Sam said, looking Dean in the eye. "You know maybe that's what the Demon's doing. Pushing us. Finding ways to break us."

Dean did _not_ want to have this conversation. He shut it down as quickly as he could by doing what he did best.

Avoidance.

"Sam we don't know what the demon wants, okay?" He slapped Sam on the shoulder, slapped a big grin on his face. "Quit worrying about it," Dean said as he walked to the driver's side of the car hoping, _praying_, that was enough to end the conversation

Sam watched him go and saw the relief on Dean's face, thinking he'd dodged the second bullet of the day. But this was the moment that Sam had been waiting for. The opportunity to have Dean actually tell him how he felt about this whole strange trip they'd been on.

"You know, I heard you before, Dean," Sam began, making sure he had his undivided attention. "When Andy made you tell the truth? You're just as scared of this as I am."

"That was mind control," Dean shot back, scrambling to get out of the situation. The hidden fear emanated and he volleyed quickly with a joke of sorts. "That's like being ruffied. That doesn't count. I'm calling 'do over.'"

Sam's heart sank at the phrase he'd used earlier with Andy. He couldn't believe that Dean had actually just said it. "What are you, seven?" Sam said, staring at him incredulously.

"Doesn't matter, we've gotta just keep doing what we're doing," Dean continued like Sam hadn't even called him out. "Find that evil son of a bitch and kill it." His voice was steady and confident – one of Dean's best traits. He stared Sam down, daring him to argue the point.

Dean's phone suddenly rang; like he'd planned it as a back up for the conversation to end.

The wind was knocked from Sam's sails. He couldn't believe that they still weren't going to talk about this. "Yeah, I guess." He slowly opened the door as Dean answered the phone and climbed in.

"Ellen, what's going on?" Dean inquired as he listened for a moment. "Yeah, we'll be right there."

-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N - I figured that Sammy needed a little catharsis from their ordeal as well and Andy seemed the perfect fit. He's like Dean's Gordon (think bar scene in _Bloodlust_) minus the trying to kill him part. :D

This will remain in cannon, just behind the scenes, and will go through _Usual Suspects_. Not a fan of _No Exit_ at all, but it will suit my purposes. I'm hoping there's one more chapter to completion, two if it's really wordy. It depends on Sam...

As always, a huge thank you to Gem who, very politely, told me my first version of this didn't work. I revamped, did more research (no, me?) and this is the result. All mistakes are mine.

Thanks for reading.

:D

Caroline


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi there_

_This is the final stretch - one chapter after this, I believe, unless Sam gets all angsty again. :D I'd like to finish this up before the real reveal comes about._

_Speaking of deadlines, I made a not-so-smart one in my profile about finishing Cahokia by Sam's birthday (May 2). Well, um, that's not gonna happen, but I will have a chapter up by then._

_Thanks to all who read and review, and undying thanks, again and always, to Gem. All mistakes are mine. And I don't own them... at least not yet..._

_:D_

_Caroline_

**-o-o-o-o-o**

**Chapter 5**

The ride back to Nebraska was mostly silent as they drove straight north. The trip would take about eight hours, but Dean knew he could pull it off in maybe six and a half, barring any unforeseen circumstances. But, then again, this was the World of Winchester.

Dean blared Metallica's _Black album_ to let Sam know he didn't want to talk. The words that had spilled so easily from his mouth at Andy's beckoning were ringing in his ears. The words that he never would have said to Sammy in a million years were now splayed on the table like a Thanksgiving feast.

The words that cut his brother to the bone.

So much had happened since their father had died; so much pain and anguish. But it was Dean's burden to carry, not Sam's. He couldn't let Sam know, and if that meant continuing to shut him out until he could figure around this, then it had to be. Dean made a promise to their father. He didn't like it, but Dean didn't know what else to do.

Guthrie had put a huge crimp in his plan.

Beside him, Sam sat rigid. No doubt whirling the words as well – trying to make sense of what had been said. Dean was no fool, and he knew that the conversation would be sooner rather than later, but for now, he had to protect Sam, and that meant not telling him the truth.

Sam chanced a look at Dean, feeling the conflicting emotions coming from him. He wanted to just tell Dean everything he knew, everything he was feeling, but his mouth was dry and the words were buried deep.

Sam was consumed with guilt and he could literally feel it eating away at his insides. It was making him sick. Not only was he dealing with the tragedy of Guthrie where they'd found two more of the 'Chosen,' one of which was now dead, but Sam was trying to deal with the personal issues of his brother thinking – _knowing_ – he was a freak.

Andy Gallagher, lover of philosophy and a good cup of Joe, was now a murderer because Sam couldn't stop him from killing his own brother. Just like he hadn't been able to stop Max Miller from killing _his_ family. Those thoughts wreaked havoc through his being.

The scene at the dam played over and over in Sam's mind. He'd been knocked out cold by the 'mind controlled' Tracy, but heard bits of the conversation that Webber was having with Andy. Trying to convince him that the arrival of the Demon was the best thing since sliced bread.

Sam's stomach lurched.

Sam remembered waking with gravel on his face and dead eyes staring back at him.

Webber's.

Andy had pulled the trigger to save their lives – Tracy's, Dean's, even Sam's - but instead, had condemned himself; bringing Andy another step closer to his destiny with the Demon.

"Dean, pull over!"

Dean barely registered that Sam had spoken, but looked in Sam's direction, seeing the pale sheen on his face.

"Sam?"

"Dean!"

He quickly veered to the side of the road as Sam spilled to the grass, his stomach revealing the bile from another day of non-eating. Dean raced to his brother's side as he watched him retch again, worried, anxious, but unable to help.

"Dude, that's gross!"

Sam didn't bother to look up. He grabbed his stomach as another round hit, his abdomen squeezing and contracting nothing. His vision started to fade as he braced a hand to stop himself from toppling over.

The memory of Dean in the car appeared before him, feeling the stabbing words that came from deep inside foray forward.

"…_cause you're all part of something that's terrible and I hope to hell that he's wrong…"_

Another round of heaving came about as he teetered toward the ground. After a final push, Sam relaxed back, panting and covered in sweat, his hair plastered in wet locks to the side of his head. He took a deep breath and swallowed down the foul taste in his mouth.

Dean appeared with a bottle of water from the car and handed it to Sam who nodded his thanks. He swished and spit carefully so as not to upset the balance of things. Sam chanced a small gulp and paused. He wiped his sleeve across his brow and started to get up.

The lightheadedness from the expulsion caught him off-guard as he stumbled back to the ground.

"Easy there, Killer. I've got ya."

_Bad choice of words…_

Sam hesitated but let the comment slide. He was grateful to be back on his feet and was moved at the concern emitted from Dean as he watched over Sam. He so missed that from Dean. Sam took tentative steps forward and made his way back to the car. His hand reached the hood and he eased himself back inside.

Dean stood at the passenger door and towered over his brother. He quickly did a scan for any additional injuries.

"You okay?"

_That was a loaded question._

"Fine. Must be the concussion."

But Sam knew exactly what it was.

Dean nodded and closed the door as his brother folded himself in the rest of the way. His hand paused after the creak of the Impala signaled its closure. Dean's chin rose as he looked to the stars, wondering how the hell they were going to get through all this.

The hunter made his way back to the driver's side and looked to Sam. He was already balled against the door in the 'don't ask me' position, face hidden away. And Dean obliged. Metallica became nothing more than background noise and they sped north once again.

Against the door, tears fell down Sam's face wondering how the hell they were going to get through all this.

-o-o-o-o-

They entered the Roadhouse several hours later – Dean had actually lost track of the time – to find Ellen behind the bar. It was empty save for Ash in his backroom, and the Harvelles. They exchanged their pleasantries as Ellen placed two beers in front of the Winchesters.

It was clear she had something to say when she dismissed Jo to the cellar for a case of beer.

"So, you wanna tell me about this last hunt of yours?"

Dean's stomach dropped as he realized his greatest fears were coming to fruition. He knew the state that Sam was in – an emotional wreck. And the woman before them would use that to her advantage to get answers. The family secret was in danger of being unearthed by the matronly bartender.

"No, not really" Dean tried, grabbing his beer and taking a swig, hoping Sam would catch the drift. "No offense, but it's kind of a family thing."

Clearly Ellen was not amused. "Not any more. I got this stuff from Ash."

The folder slapped down to the bar as the accusations flew like daggers from Ellen's eyes. She looked to Dean knowing he would not willingly talk. But Sam…she could see defeat in his eyes. Guilt. He was ready and willing to give up the ghost.

"You think it was the Demon both times, don't you?"

Dean was livid; protection mode kicking into high gear. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to know about Sam's connection to the Demon.

Ellen was questioning his brother, questioning their family background, and made it clear that she wanted answers. Sam obliged her all too readily, and Dean couldn't help but think - again - that it was Sam's guilt that was leading him to talk. Like he _wante_d to be condemned.

Dean turned from Sam in defeat as the younger continued to spill the story of his theories and abilities to this stranger. He was angry at Sam for trusting her, but angry at himself for letting it happen. He shouldn't have brought them back there, but after being outted by Andy regarding Sam's abilities and where they might lead, Dean figured he'd need a little R&R from the whole scenario.

This was not what he'd been expecting.

Sam's words continued to leak like a sieve, almost apologizing for being involved in the whole plot. Dean defended that the 'psychics' weren't dangerous, heavily emphasizing this so that Ellen wouldn't think to grab a gun and blow Sam away right then and there.

Sam, on the other hand, had a different view and felt that there were possible dangers from the 'Chosen.'

Dean sighed as he listened to his brother. He could see Sam's nervousness at being called out for who he was, but also because now they had no real way to find everyone involved in the bigger picture. No sure way to find the Demon.

Jo brought a bottle of whiskey, at her mother's request, and the four sat and dug through the rest of the information they had, trying to piece together what their next move would be.

-o-o-o-

A few days later, the Winchesters were still at the Roadhouse. Ellen had offered the beds out back as an olive branch to Dean. The boys were a little short on cash, so they accepted.

Dean was reluctant to hang around too long, but he could see that Sam was exhausted and for whatever reason had a sense of safety within the four walls. He knew Sam was still guilt-ridden about their father's death and wanted to make it up to him by continuing the hunt. Maybe Sam thought the Roadhouse brought an unknown closeness to their father, realizing that he had spent time here. Maybe he could hear the echoes of conversations once spoken between this mysterious hunting world and John Winchester.

Maybe it was the longing of being wanted, after everything was on the table, that somehow Ellen was able to give him.

Dean knew the words he'd spoken to Sam in Guthrie still played heavily on his mind, but he'd hoped Sam would be able to brush it off.

That was certainly not the case.

The rift between the brothers was evident, but not uncomfortable for those around them. Dean found himself spending a bit more time with Jo, admiring her physique, and hearing about some of her other musical interests. She asked him about jobs he'd been on – both with and without Sam – and absorbed the details of each hunt like a sponge. More than anything, the girl wanted to hunt; to follow in her father's footsteps.

Sam was withdrawn. The events of Guthrie weighed heavily on his mind, along with the words spoken by his brother. He'd spent time with Ash 'geeking' it up, but he discovered he liked the solace of the backroom. If there was one thing Sam was good at, it was brooding; he'd mastered the artform. So he perused the web for new gigs on his own, hoping that something odd would pop up that might lead them - lead _him -_ to another 'Chosen.'

And he left Dean alone.

After a few days, Sam sensed a change in Dean and he suggested venturing into town together to grab some food. They came back to the Roadhouse and Dean cracked a joke. An honest-to-goodness joke about Katie Holmes. He felt his face reach upward for the first time in days. Maybe things would be alright after all.

Time heals all wounds, right?

Then, there was a crash from inside the Roadhouse.

Jo and Ellen were having a knock-down, drag-em-out fight.

As the stunned boys watched the words lash out between the two strong women, they were suddenly assaulted with their own verbiage.

It seemed that Jo had found a case regarding missing girls from an apartment complex in Philadelphia. She handed the file knowingly to Dean who paged through the details as Jo rattled them off. The pattern was definitely there and worth looking into.

That's where Ellen drew the line.

Jo had painstakingly researched the case and come up with the link. It was her case and she wanted to solve it. To prove she had the know-how to do the job.

But Ellen had different ideas. She practically threw the file at the brothers and sent them on their way to the city of _Brotherly Love_.

How apropos.

Taking their hint, the Impala tore down the highway blaring her theme songs and the brothers seemed to fall into rhythm again.

_Maybe this will be a good thing. Maybe we'll finally be able to talk._

The conversation was not as jaded as it had been over the last few days, but there was still some tension of things done and said. Dean was still guilty and angry, but not like he'd been. The familiarity was certainly coming back and Sam felt himself finally relax around his brother again. Finally.

-o-o-o-o-o

Sam picked the lock of the apartment building with ease as they snuck into the room where the girl had gone missing. The EMF started picking up something right away, and they soon discovered ectoplasm.

This was one nasty spirit and the stakes went up.

Closing the door quietly, the brothers made their way down the hall towards the exit. They heard voices in the distance slowly approaching their vector. They looked at each other as the female voice grew in intensity and then appeared before them.

Jo.

She stepped right into the part and convinced the landlord that Dean was her boyfriend and they were ready to take the apartment right then. She pulled a wad of cash from somewhere that a drug dealer would be hot for and shoved it at the older man.

In their new digs, they went over the facts of the case, which told them a lot of nothing. The brothers were impressed with the research Jo pulled together from various sources but nothing jumped out at them. No one had died a violent death in the building over the last eighty years.

The phone rang and it was Ellen, desperate to find her daughter. Dean had lied to Ellen to appease Jo. And that didn't sit well with either of the Winchesters. But what was done was done, and they had a job to do.

The conclusion was to search the place from top to bottom looking for any unusual signs and possibly a cursed object. They split up; Jo heading off with Dean and Sam on his own.

-o-o-o-o

Sam made his way through the building, EMF in hand, but knowing he would feel anything if it was off. His 'shining' never seemed to miss the creepy vibes that flew out at him. So far nothing.

What bothered him was Jo. While he had nothing against her, she put them in a bad spot. They'd now lied to Ellen, one of their remaining allies, allowing her to partake in the hunt. Her research skills were top notch, but that didn't mean she knew how to handle herself in the field.

But the worst part was that now Sam couldn't talk to Dean. He was in protection mode – but this time it was Jo. She was green and couldn't be trusted to wander about on her own. Sam was in total agreement with Dean's decision to pair with her. However, as he reasoned it out, there was a twinge of jealousy at Dean's open concern for her safety. While he understood it, and felt the same way himself, part of him wished that those worried looks and anxiety would be thrust upon him.

The opportunity that he so needed and built himself up for had now slipped away.

Sam needed answers; answers about who he was and what he would become. He knew that Dean could fill in some missing pieces with the knowledge their father had dumped on him. And in reciprocation, Sam would be able to relay their mother's concerns for him, hopefully giving Dean that final push to open up and let Sam in. To rebuild their bond even stronger than before, despite the Demon's best efforts to keep them apart.

Sam sighed as he felt his opportunities slipping away.

He returned to the room and waited for the two to arrive. Sam looked through additional notes, wondering if they'd missed something. An hour later, they showed up. Sam could feel the tension between the two; the emotions from Dean were conflicted. First and foremost was worry for her safety, that was understood, but he also was fighting his attraction to Jo. It was clear she was his type, but the Dean of day's past hadn't reared his ugly head since their father's death, and that was a concern to Sam in itself. It was guilt. Like somehow, Dean couldn't be himself because of this deep tie to their father and the events of his death.

Sam watched the two interact, threw an occasional smile their way, but they made him uncomfortable enough to shoot over to his computer, leaving them to deal with their issues alone.

The trio ate in the room and continued to mull over the research. Every once in a while, Sam would spot it – that unsure flirtation from each of them. Moreso from Jo, but it happened with Dean as well.

"You know, I'm gonna turn in. You guys need anything?" Sam stated as he stretched his arms out and over his head, hoping Dean could deal with at least some of his deep-seated emotions. With someone.

A simple game of rock-paper-scissors had won Sam the other bed in the room, and he figured it would be more comfortable to count the holes on the ceiling than to be in the room with the two of them any longer.

"Nope. I'm not far behind," Dean returned, putting the photograph back on the table. "I'll probably hit the shower and make my way to this stellar, not-even-fold-out, couch." He threw a look at Sam.

"Two out of three? I'm willing to give it another go, Dean," Sam said, waiting for the challenge, raising his fist.

"Naw, you won it fair and square, Sammy. Sleep well," Dean added as Sam turned and headed for the bedroom, absently scratching his casted arm. "Don't let the bed bugs bite. I don't think that couches have bed bugs, so _I_ don't have to worry about that. Also, don't sleep with that comforter too close to your face – who knows where it's been." That stopped Sam in his tracks. He turned and looked at Dean who gave him a smirk.

The door slammed closed.

-o-o-o-

Sam made his way to the bed and pulled his layering shirt off, carefully slipping it past the cast. He could still hear Dean and Jo talking, but it seemed a bit lighter with him out of the room. Sam's heart swelled a bit, hoping that Dean could be happy, and maybe Jo was the one for him.

But it didn't stop his own ache as he missed his brotherly bond with Dean.

When he was around them, he wasn't sure what he felt from Dean. There was almost an irritation radiating from him towards Sam; like he wanted him to go away. Then in the next moment, he felt a pleading from Dean that he wanted him to stay. Sam certainly felt the third wheel in the Dean/Jo syndrome, even if Dean never really said or emoted it to Sam. It was very confusing, but then again, when was anything related to Dean _not_ confusing?

After slipping into the bed (careful of the comforter) he actually looked at the ceiling tiles, mocking himself at his earlier thoughts. A giggle drifted from the next room, and suddenly, Sam felt alone. He thought he and Dean had made strides towards 'Winchester normal' only to be set back by having Jo around. It wasn't her fault, not really, but it just added to his constant dread of never resolving their own issues.

The day's events took their toll and Sam slowly, eventually drifted to sleep.

-o-o-o-o

He was at that same park bench – the one where he'd spoken with his mother. It was no coincidence that he was here. Sam looked around, remembering the beauty of the spot. Remembering what he'd learned here.

"Mom?" Sam called, hoping that he was being granted the opportunity to see her again.

A soft hand fell upon his shoulder as he turned to see the petite blonde before him.

"Sam."

They were in an embrace before the name finished from her lips. Sam's emotions took over and tears spilled down his face instantly.

Suddenly the six foot four giant was smaller than his mother as he buried himself in her; wrapping his arms around her in a tight grasp. Mary let it happen and felt the sorrow coming from her youngest.

"Sam. Shhh," she cooed gently as she rubbed up and down his back. "I'm sorry, honey. I had no idea this would be so difficult."

Sam pulled his face from the nest of her hair, pieces saturated with his tears. They stuck to his cheek and he led her to the bench where they sat.

"Mom… I can't…he won't talk…" The words were too difficult to get out as she reached and brushed away the tears.

"I know. I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I've made everything worse." Mary absently fingered the dogtags that remained around her neck.

"What do you mean?" Sam questioned. He pulled back further to get a look at her. _The pictures never truly did her justice. _

Mary grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed. He knew she was really there, felt every breath of her. He tried to absorb every moment, knowing that this visit would more than likely be the last. Sam could see the urgency in her features.

"Sam, I was wrong. You can't tell Dean about our visit. About…what you know, about me," Mary choked out. She took a deep breath and continued, refusing to meet his gaze. "He _will_ tell you what your father said, but it will take some time. He made a promise, Sam. You have to give him time."

Sam looked at her quizzically and furrowed his brow. More than anything, he wanted to put everything on the table – to hear what their father said, and to let Dean know what had really happened to their mother. It was an even trade, but the words never started.

"You can't tell Dean. He… can't know that I've been to see you." Mary rose from the bench, taking a swipe at the tears falling.

The youngest Winchester sat stunned at the new revelation. He suddenly began to shake at the implications.

"Mom? Did… something happen?" Realization suddenly hit him square in the face and he felt his mother's pain. "Do you know where Dad is?"

Mary refused to turn and face Sam. She nodded her head and buried her face in her hands. "_He_ found out what I had done, how I had reached you, and I think… I think he was scared."

Those words brought Sam to his feet as he made his way in quick strides to his mother's side. "_He_? Do you mean Dad?"

The sadness of the shake was apparent as it suddenly came crashing in around her.

"The Demon. He… got a message to me. Showed me where John is," she turned and raised her loving eyes to Sam's. "Oh God, Sam. He's… with _him_. How could he…"

All their fears were realized then and there as they stole Sam's breath. John _had_ sold his soul for Dean, and was with the Demon, in Hell. Now the Demon had found a way to get to their mother by threatening their father, further preventing the brothers from piecing together their destinies.

"Can we… do you know a way to save him?" Sam managed, finding his voice again, hoping that his mother's 'connections' could assist.

She shook her head. "He said that if you told Dean about that night, that John would…" she sobbed and threw herself into Sam's arms. He held her as they exchanged tears.

Sam didn't want to make her go on. It was clear that the Demon did not want Sam and Dean to put anything further together, thus leaving Sam in his personal hell with the emotions of Dean washing over him with no dam in sight.

_Why doesn't _He_ want Dean to know what happened?_

"I won't, Mom. Not if…" Sam couldn't continue as he just held Mary, letting the sorrow envelop them both.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she sobbed as she broke contact. "Sam…. I… just take care of yourselves. Watch over Dean. He's…" Mary stopped, looking into her baby's eyes. "You need to be careful. He'll keep testing you. Trust yourself, and trust Dean. It's the only way. The two of your together… it's the only way."

Mary's eyes swelled and she turned and ran.

"MOM!" Sam started off after her, but was held back. "No! Mom, please!"

"I love you, Sam. Always remember that. And Dean…."

And she disappeared out of sight.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sam awoke suddenly with tears trailing down his face. He shot up in bed and looked at his surroundings, searching for Dean, finding his heart in his throat. Sam took a few deep breaths to calm himself, remembering where he was.

The job came back to him and the pieces of the last several weeks emotional highs and lows made themselves known.

Grief overcame Sam as he filed through the vision of this mother. The opportunity to share with Dean now stripped away like vinyl tarnish.

_I can't say a damn thing. Oh God, how am I going to do this?_

Sam fisted his hands and buried them into his eyes. He lay there for what seemed like hours before he let his arms fall to the side. He pulled his tradition pose, staring at the ceiling once again, praying for some kind of answer. Desperation settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized he was alone, once again.

He opened the door to the living room area and was greeted by Jo's worn face. She quickly made eye contact, offering a hint of a smile and dove back to the papers.

"You still up?" Sam said, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair.

"Yeah, I want to see what else I can put together. Maybe we missed something, you know?"

Sam did know. He had the research bug as well, just not with this case. There were too many other factors that took higher precedence for him. If she wanted to be 'Geek Girl' this time around, Sam was more than happy to let her take the reigns. He admired her dedication to the cause, but certainly wasn't in any mood to talk.

"I'm…gonna grab coffee. Want some?" he asked making his way towards the door.

"Sure. Black. Thanks." Her head barely turned as she heard the door close.

Sam wandered the streets, grateful to be out of the apartment. Wondering if Jo hadn't been there if it would've been too late to save their father further pain.

When he woke from his vision, he felt stifled. Normally, Dean would be there to comfort him and tell him everything was alright.

But it wasn't alright. _He_ wasn't alright.

On top of that, he couldn't tell Dean a damn thing if he wanted to now. The Demon had tied his hands, once again, proving that he had control over their lives. _Sam's_ life.

Sam was lost in thought, but took notice of a bank's digital readout as he passed by.

5:47a.m.

He huffed, not realizing it was so early.

Philadelphia was a big city, bigger than they were used to staying in, and the streets were already bustling with people on their way to work. Several people rushed past him with coffee from various chains, but nothing appealed to him. He'd left on the ruse of obtaining the beverage, but he knew he had to get out before the room suffocated him.

And Dean never even heard him.

Sam found a park bench and sat down, thinking he was having déjà vu all over again. His heart tightened as the memories of his mother running from him filled his mind. Instead, he turned his gaze downward, watching the dew on the grass ball up and fall to gravity's pull. It was strangely comforting to sit and observe nature around him. He took a deep breath of the frosty air and leaned back into the seat, finding it moist to the touch.

Sam was overcome with sorrow for his mother. His father. What had John Winchester gotten himself into?

And now Sam couldn't tell anyone about what happened on that fateful night.

There was enough guilt to build a mountain in regards to his father, so Sam certainly wasn't willing to make him suffer further by risking the truth with Dean. His mother said that Dean would tell him in time what was said before John died, but what would Sam do in the meantime?

Before he realized it, it was after 7a.m. Sam rose from the bench, feeling the moist clothing seeping to his now chilled skin. He shivered involuntarily and headed back towards their new apartment.

Sam passed a local coffee shop, deciding he'd rather give them the business then the big chains, when an ambulance tore by. Then a police car. And he knew something was wrong.

He sprinted after the sirens, finding them parked in front of his building.

Another girl had gone missing.

"Where's the coffee?"

Sam's face told the tale as he entered the room solemnly.

After learning about the girl, they dove back into the research finding that H.H. Holmes, the first official serial killer who had a penchant for labyrinth work and pretty, petite blondes, was executed in the empty field where the apartment building now stood. They split up, again, to search the walls.

Sam started at the top and kept contact with the two via phone. Truth be told, he was glad to be alone again. He didn't really know what to say to Dean. Sam knew his brother could read him like a book, or at least he used to be able to. He wondered if he had lost that part of the relationship when John died.

As connected as he felt to Dean on his emotional level, he couldn't have felt farther away from him.

Sam hadn't heard anything for over ½ hour and he started to get worried for Dean and Jo's safety. Then, out of the blue, he felt Dean's anxiety hit him like a ton of bricks. That spurred Sam to action.

Sam made his way down to where he thought they were, based on his last intel, bumping into a determined Dean who almost didn't even recognize his brother.

"He took her."

More research ensued, and after an angry phone call from Ellen, the Winchesters jumped into high gear, finding a possible basement that was hidden on the current plans. They hit the field and looked for the entrance to the concealed basement.

Making their way as quickly as they could down the steps, and army-crawling through a sewer pipe, they were finally rewarded with the large prison where the murderer was dragging his victims.

A buckshot into the chest of the madman dissipated him to dust – for the moment. The boys quickly let Jo and the other girl out of their prisons as they made their plans to capture the son of a bitch once and for all.

When it was all over, and Holmes was cemented into his new eternal damnation, Sam had to admit that Jo had guts. She hung in there and got the job done. Her father would have been proud.

Those thoughts lingered in Sam's frayed mind.

The arrival of Ellen made everything turn from bad to worse. The ride back from Philadelphia to Nebraska was a nightmare, and Dean refused to let Sam drive, finding his own solace in his little bit of control over the situation.

It was just constant silence, except for the pounding in Sam's head. The screams of Dean's emotions switching from fear (of Ellen) to pride, to guilt. And there was a lot of guilt to go around. There wasn't a doubt that Ellen would unleash the minute she was ready.

And who could blame her.

Pangs of remorse filled Sam as well as he watched the interaction, or lack thereof, as they sped down the highway. Ellen was now the closest thing the Winchesters had to a mother, and Dean knew he had screwed up not telling her the truth. By letting Jo do the hunt with them. The eventual full-on tongue lashing and probably a slap across the face would come to fruition. That would be if she let them off easy.

Sam lost himself in his grief over his mother's final visit and the chains that now surrounded his heart; threatening to squeeze the last bits of life from him at his childhood knowledge. He shifted to look out the window, placing his forehead to the glass to hide the tears that slipped down his face from Jo and the rest of the inhabitants of the car.

-o-o-o-o-

"Not now, Dean," she shouted back at his brother as Jo tore away from the Impala and towards the field. Sam watched as she and Dean spoke; Dean's body language telling a story of its own. Then shock. Like a wave. Sam had to grab the vehicle to stop himself from tumbling. He actually started to see blackness before he was able to shake it off and concentrate on his brother.

Jo marched away, not looking back.

Dean stood, dumbfounded and Sam watched, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	6. Chapter 6

This is it, kids. It's done! I hope you enjoy my crazy theory! Thanks to all of you who have supported me, either via reviews, PMs or just by reading. It means a lot.

Thanks, as always, to Gem for her wonderful suggestions and beta. I added a little more after she inspired me, so any mistakes are my own.

And a special thanks to Irismay who always has a smile on her face (through the internet) and an encouraging word for me. I dont think you truly understand how much that means to me. Thanks for your support through writing and all the other craziness that went on. And thanks for believing me in... Read her stuff - it's incredible. She's linked on my favorites page, along with the incredible Geminigrl11!

Here's the part one of the season finale! Let's see what happens!

:D

Caroline

**-o-o-o-o-o-**

**Chapter 6**

Dean played the accusation over in his mind again and again as he watched her blonde hair sway back and forth with the movement of her hips. Jo walked away from him, planting another seed of doubt of the legacy of John Winchester.

Would their father really have let Bill Harvelle die?

There was no way of knowing. All they really knew was that they had worn out their welcome. They needed to get away – far away – and fast.

Jo's words still stung as they left in silence. Sam had listened with interest to Dean's retelling of their father's last hunt with Bill. The emotion that jolted Sam into oblivion outside the Roadhouse made perfect sense now. Dean was getting assaulted with their father's past – his bad decision making – on a constant basis. The hunter was learning that John Winchester was just as human as the rest of mankind; filled to the brim with wrong choices. Understanding more and more as each day passed. It wasn't an easy knowledge.

The spirit of the road seemed to ease up the tensions as the brothers made their way to Baltimore. Sam could still feel Dean's guilt over Jo's spiteful words. And Dean didn't need any more guilt. Neither of them did. But Sam was able to steer the conversation away when he could sense the emotions beginning to exude from Dean again. He became even better at reading his brother, every nuance and twitch. Sometimes he swore he could even hear his thoughts…

This is what they needed. What _Sam_ needed. Time alone, just the two of them to try and mend the internal wounds that were tearing them both apart.

The comfort level grew and Sam's heart ached that he finally had the opportunity to really talk to Dean. He still couldn't reveal the truth, though, not knowing that it would condemn his father to an even more painful fate if he did. Sam now understood that he owed their father; that this was an opportunity to try and make things right. He had to hope that Dean would open up about the secret and they could solve it together without additional cajoling.

They crossed the border into Indiana, just past Chicago, finding a Podunk town out of the way, settling into the first motel they saw. There were too many memories in Chicago, so getting through and beyond the first night had been their main plan of action.

They dragged their bags and made their way into the poorly lit motel room with grunts and sighs. They were tired and confused and just needed some rest. With no cable, they decided to call it a night.

Several hours later, Dean was still restless; Sam could hear him tossing and turning in the bed. It made it even harder for Sam to sleep as anger from Dean hit him like a ton of bricks. This was a new step in the healing process for Dean, as guilt had been his ally through most of this journey.

Curiosity got the better of Sam as he leaned to look at this brother. Dean's eyes were closed, and he was on the edge of actually falling asleep. He took a deep sigh and concentrated on Dean, wondering what, if anything, he could get.

He had no idea what he was trying to do, but Sam thought of Dean's face. He looked into his soulful eyes, then into his mind, willing the information to him. Sam smiled to himself at the stupidity of what he was trying to do. Emotions were one thing but getting thoughts….

"_Did you really let him die?"_

Sam gasped and shot up in bed.

"Holy shit!"

Dean stirred next to him. "Sammy?" the slurred voice asked.

Sweat suddenly poured from Sam's brow as the realization of what just happened hit him. _Oh my God!_

"I'm fine.. just gotta go. That burger…." Sam raced into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him.

"Pussy." Dean rolled back over and settled into his restless twisting once again.

Sam sat on the floor of the bathroom, hands fisted in his soaked hair. His heart was pounding out of his skin and he was having a hard time breathing. He tried to get himself under control, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes.

He contemplated what he'd heard. _Did you let him die? _Dean was having an angry conversation with their father in his head, letting out the pain that had been pent up since the hospital.

"I can't believe it worked," Sam whispered, releasing the grasp of his locks and placing his arm on the toilet seat.

They had officially crossed over into weird. And the question that remained was, what was Sam going to do with his new-found skill--and knowledge?

-o-o-o-o-

They hit the road after breakfast that morning, well, after Dean ate and Sam pushed around some eggs with a piece of wheat toast. The lack of appetite did not go unnoticed by Dean.

"So, you were in the bathroom a long time last night. Everything come out okay?" Dean gnashed on his muffin, stuffing way too much in his mouth, washing it down with coffee. "You must've been in there for an hour."

Sam glanced quickly up at Dean, making eye contact and returning his gaze to the food. "Yeah, I just, wasn't feeling too great. Still have some residuals this morning." He stopped the act and put the toast back on the plate.

"I'm not gonna have to pull over every two minutes so you can greet the porcelain god, am I?"

Sam snorted and smiled up at his brother. All the anger from last evening was gone, and he only felt concern from Dean. It was good to have that back in his life, even in baby steps. Sam shook his head and pushed the dish away.

"Don't worry, I won't puke in your precious car," Sam replied leaning back, giving every sign to his brother that he was done eating.

Dean waved at the waitress for the check while shoving the last of his muffin into his mouth. "Damn right, or you'll be riding in the trunk, sprinkled in holy water."

Sam watched his brother finish up his food as the waitress took Sam's plate. It was the most disgusting and the most fascinating thing in the world; the sheer presence of pushing all that food into that large mouth was a spectacle to behold. Sam smiled as he got up from the table.

"Be right back," he said, making his way towards the back.

"Better not be in there for two hours, Francis."

"I won't," Sam replied turning his head back to answer his brother.

"You won't what?" asked Dean, mouth still full.

"I won't be in there for two hours."

Dean's brow furrowed as he looked quizzically at the tall man. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam's face paled as he realized what was going on. _Oh shit, it's happening again_. And this time, he hadn't been trying. Had he inadvertently opened a conduit last night between his brother and himself? And if he did, how would he close it?

This was the same dilemma that Andy put him in. As much as he wanted to know what Dean was thinking, this didn't sit right, with Dean having no clue what was going on.

Bad enough if Sam could control it. But if he couldn't...he knew, if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't want Dean in his head, uninvited.

He wouldn't wish that curse on anyone.

"Nothing." Sam quickly rushed off before Dean could figure out that something was wrong.

Dean watched him speed around the corner, and then he returned to the bits of food remaining on his plate. "Did I say that out loud?"

-o-o-o-o-

The remaining twelve hours began with a bit of stunted silence from Sam's end. He was trying to wrap his head around what was going on. Every once in a while, he'd get a comment thrust at him from Dean's direction, and he tried his best to ignore them.

They finally pulled to the city limits of Baltimore, finding the nearest coffee shop to relax for a few, scoping out the area and reading the local news.

Sam arrived with two coffees and Dean presented a possible case: The murder of Anthony Giles. It seemed an invisible killer broke into the man's office and brutally slashed the man's throat. No surveillance tapes. No evidence.

Their kind of gig.

Quick agreement to investigate sent them to the grieving widow, pulling their black suits from retirement, playing insurance investigators. Karen Giles was understandably still shaken by the whole situation, but she remained strong as she answered their questions about the night of Tony's death. Even the weird ones.

They discovered that Tony had been visited by a spirit with pale skin and red eyes.

Bingo!

With more to go on, the boys broke into Tony's office to peruse the crime scene. The strangest piece of evidence was a stack of papers with the name DANA SHULPSin a constant loop. They looked through Tony's files and searched the internet, but came up cold.

No Dana Shulps anywhere near Baltimore.

Sam continued searching Tony's computer and worked on breaking his password to find the encoded files. Dean decided to head back to talk with Karen, hoping to charm more information from her, but mostly to get away from the doldrums of his brother's typing. They agreed to meet back at the hotel to discuss their findings.

The password uncovered a lot of business files, but nothing they could use to figure out who Dana Shulps was. There were a few items that Sam wanted to take a further look at, so he printed a couple off to take with.

Dean had not yet arrived and for the first time, Sam realized that he wasn't getting anything from him. No emotions, no thoughts, nothing. It was actually a welcome relief after the weirdness of the 'mind reading' incidents. He figured he was 'out of range' and breathed in a silent thank you for the break. He loved Dean with all his heart, but there was so much going on inside his own head, that he didn't need the added burden of his brother's….

_Hmmmm…_

Those thoughts suddenly came back to him as he thought of the days after their father died. All Sam wanted was to share the burden. Talk everything out. Unleash his own emotions and have Dean help him through, reciprocating in kind. But now he understood it; why Dean didn't open up. Why he didn't ask Sam if he was okay. There was so much to mull over and dissect; there was no way that Dean could have helped Sam. As the emotional tie grew between the two, Sam realized that the only way that Dean _could_ survive the ambush of knowledge was to push Sam away.

That realization hurt beyond words.

After all they'd been through, Sam wanted to heal together, but now he knew that that could not be. Their plates were both piled high with different feelings and facts to sort through. Each having their own burdens. Maybe someday, sitting along a river drinking beer, they could finally open up, but for the time being, Sam knew he had to let Dean be. Let him handle things in his own way and offer his support however he could. And he would tell him when he was ready about their father's secret.

His thoughts were brutally interrupted when the door to the motel suddenly burst open with a barrage of SWAT personnel, guns trained on him. He immediately put his hands into the air as several sets of eyes were ready to take him out. A petite woman weaved her way to the front of the line, dwarfed by the men around her.

"Going somewhere, Sam?"

_Shit!_

-o-o-o-o

Sam was cuffed and thrown in the back of the detective's squad car. He listened to conversations around him, but the only thing he was able to ascertain was that Dean was in custody as well. At least that meant he was safe, for the time being.

_Maybe he freaked out Karen again and she called the cops. But why would they arrest us?_

He took a breath to try and calm himself. The detective, Diana, sent knowing glances in his direction every so often, tormenting him with the hidden knowledge she held. Sam knew better than to say anything, especially since he had no idea what was going on.

They approached the Baltimore police district and Sam suddenly felt Dean again. It was cocky arrogance masking fear; definitely his brother. Sam closed his eyes to try and concentrate on it, but he was whisked from the back seat too fast to maintain the tenuous connection. He obeyed and followed the police into the building to a holding room on the same floor as Dean. They pushed him into the space without a word and locked the door behind him.

Sam paced the room and was frankly shocked that they hadn't taken his watch or other personal, non-lethal belongings. They did snake the lock pick, but that was to be expected. The rest of his effects were still in his possession. Why look a gift horse in the mouth?

Left to his own devices, he could once again feel Dean's emotions riding high. Sam figured that if ever there was a time to figure out what this connection thing was, it was now. He sat himself at the table and closed his eyes.

He felt himself let go completely, and it scared him. His mother's face drifted softly in front of his face, reminding him why he had this gift.

"_Months went by, you and I continued to grow," she stopped to squeeze his hand, "and Dean got healthier by the minute. The tumor was disappearing on its own, little by little, until one day – six months into the pregnancy – it fully vanished. Not a trace."_

"_Six months?" Sam turned to look at her, swallowing hard. Why is everything based on six months? "Mom, what are you saying? That I cured Dean? From the womb?"_

He shook off the memory and opened himself up, inviting Dean's thoughts in, solidifying the connection that was created from that moment. The young psychic didn't have time to really realize how freaked out he was by all of this, especially after he got the word 'murder' associated with Dean.

Karen Giles was dead too, and Dean was caught at the scene.

Sam opened his eyes a brief moment to re-synch himself. He needed to know what Dean had told the police. Their stories had to match or they would both be in even deeper shit.

He listened, he felt, and after fifteen minutes, Sam had the story, loud and clear.

Tony was a war buddy of their fathers.

They came as soon as they'd heard about his death to comfort Karen.

They went to get a picture from Tony's office – something about Paris.

_Man, Dean is good! I hope I can justify his story._

Sam rose, feeling a little drained at the connection, and looked around the room. He knew he was going to have to find a way out and the more information he gathered, the better off he'd be when his chance came. As effective as the cast was at pummeling people, he didn't think it would be such a good idea to use it as the weapon of choice at a police station. He'd find another way.

The door opened and the female detective walked in with a cup of coffee, setting it in front of Sam.

Showtime!

-o-o-o-

These were the times where Sam was glad he had that bit of acting background. He knew he could play the sympathy card and used his sensitive facial expressions to drive home what he was saying. He also knew that Diana was smart. She asked all the right questions, trying to trip him up. She even offered a plea bargain if Sam would turn on his brother.

But Sam had a few tricks of his own. Once he knew the story, he knew he could sell it, getting angry at just the right moments, forlorn at others. And he had the knowledge from all those law books he loved so dearly, spitting the circumstantial evidence back at the woman.

The bantering went back and forth for a bit longer, but ultimately the detective left, seemingly a little frustrated. Sam knew he hit the story perfectly.

As the door slammed, he began to pace the room again, knowing they were missing something. This definitely seemed like a vengeful spirit, but there had to be more. And who was Dana Shulps? Why couldn't they find anything on her at all?

The only way to save his brother was to solve the crime. That meant getting out of there – fast!

Dean was concentrating hard on the name and the jarring came through loud and clear. Sam grabbed a notepad on the table and wrote DANA SHULPS across the top in response to the onslaught of information he was receiving from Dean.

"_Maybe it's not a name…"_

"Anagram, maybe?" Sam connected again to Dean, nodding at his assessment, and he started to pick apart the name to see where it would lead him.

-o-o-o-o-

A short time later, a short man in a cheap suit entered shyly through the door. Sam knew upon appearance he was the public defender here to save them.

He smiled confidently, and handed Sam a piece of paper. "Your brother asked me to give this to you," he said as the yellow sheet was passed across the table.

_Hilts-_

_It's a __street__. Ashland._

_-McQueen_

Sam crumpled the paper. Dean figured it out and he needed Sam to get the hell out of there. He didn't need to read his mind to know what characters from _The Great Escape_ meant.

Dean was going to confess and make a huge scene, oh and his brother knew how to make a scene, to provide cover for Sam to get away.

"I hope that was meaningful. But I'd like to discuss _your_ case now."

"Sure thing, Matlock," Sam replied, hearing Dean use that name earlier, thinking it was funny.

"You two really are brothers, aren't you?" He sat down and took out a pad to gather the facts of the case from Sam's perspective when the door opened to reveal the detective again.

"We need you. With the other one." Her face was solemn with just a hint of excitement behind her eyes.

Dean was going to confess.

Sam looked to her with questioning eyes, pretending like he had no idea what was going down. He watched as the lawyer rose and followed her from the door.

Sam jumped from the seat and looked out the window on the door. While the glass was frosted, he could still see movement in the room. He studied for a few moments and noticed there were only a few dark blobs left in the light. Sam knew he'd never make it out the window in his room since the fire escape was a few rooms down, but he could get there from another one.

The crooked blind offered some resistance as he pulled it haphazardly, cranking the window half-way. He took a last look to see if he there was another way, but realized he'd have to be Spiderman to walk that wall, especially with a cast.

Sam would've loved to have his lock pick, but the lawyer had left his pen and he still had a paperclip in his pocket. They'd learned that lesson a while ago. He made his way to the door, seeing the last of the blobs leaving the room through the glass. Dean had a reputation already, and the officers knew they were in for a treat better than coffee and donuts.

The paperclip unfolded and slid to the top portion of the door while the pen served as the base mounting. Sam fiddled for a few moments, then finally heard the 'click' of the release. He slowly opened the door, praying that everyone had left and slid out the frame, closing it behind him.

The fire escape window was already ajar in the open space and Sam looked below to see where it would land. The Fates were with them as it opened into an alley, away from public view. He turned one last time to make sure no one was around, only to see their confiscated items in a sealed bag a few desks down. Knowing he was really pressing his luck, he ran back and purloined his picks and Dean's wallet, seeing the matchbook that had led the police to him. Sam snorted and ducked out the window and made his way three floors below.

-o-o-o-o

Sam followed Winchester protocol after breaking out and checked into their slated hotel – first listed in the phone book. His surname was Rockford. Jim Rockford. Now that he had the street name to narrow the search, Sam pilfered the mug shots and crime scene photos from anyone associated with Ashland Street. He was sorting everything when he heard a gentle rap on the door.

Before him was their arresting officer, Diana. She had found him, and that could only mean that Dean gave him up. And she believed them. But why?

She lifted her hands to Sam to reveal the strangle rings around her wrists. Diana told of her encounter in the washroom and what the spirit looked like. Clearly, she was scared, but she tried to pull it together to solve the mystery

They worked through the crime photos finding the mug shot of Claire Becker, a heroin dealer who disappeared on Ashland Street. Now they knew their next stop.

Sam and Diana followed the lead to the old warehouse where Claire made an appearance to the woman after Sam left the detective alone. She led them to shadows on the wall that stated 'Ashland Sup,' an anagram of Dana Shulps.

Behind an unsteady brick wall, they found Claire's body, and the discovery of a necklace upon her that fit the pieces together. Leading them to Diana's partner, and lover, Pete as the culprit.

They jumped back into the vehicle and Diana called into the precinct looking for Pete, wondering what she would say to him once she was face to face. What she learned was that he had left, and taken Dean with him.

Sam's instincts kicked into high gear. He had been so engrossed in finding Claire's body that he had let Dean's presence slip from his mind, even if it was just a glimmer. Now, he felt nothing.

His heart dropped to the floor as he realized he'd let his brother down, again, and now he was with the murdering psycho cop, ready to pin his whole mess on Dean. And Dean had no idea what had really happened.

They were able to track the county vehicle based on the LoJack system. It was now stopped and Sam took off in a sprint the minute he felt the panic from Dean.

"We have to hurry."

Sam pushed them in the right direction and soon they saw Pete holding a gun to Dean's head, ready to shoot.

"Pete!"

"Diana?"

She was in shock that her lover was about to shoot the man in front of him pushed to his knees. All to cover up his crimes. Diana listened to him confess the whole scenario – killing Claire because she was going to turn him in. Killing Tony and Karen Giles because they wanted out. Diana stood in awe as he unloaded his story.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean had their own conversation going on. It was clear that Sam wanted to create a diversion for his brother to get away, but Dean seemed confident that things would roll in their favor. At least he hoped they would. But it was all an act. A chance to make sure his little brother didn't get hurt. The one person whom he truly loved in this world and could never tell; at least not with words.

The brotherly protection flowed through Dean to Sam, overwhelming him with dedication, and it made Sam stumble a bit. He held himself together as he watched the scenario unfold, waiting for an opportunity to free Dean. Sam was ready to pounce, but Dean shook his head, fearful of a sudden burst from the gun in either of their directions.

They watched and listened.

"Diana, please. I still love you."

She gave in and lowered her gun.

"Thank you," Pete replied, turning to the side and aiming his gun at Dean once again. "Thank you."

And in a split second, Diana raised her gun and shot Pete in the leg, dropping him to the ground. Dean rolled instinctively away from the commotion as Sam stood behind the detective waiting for her direction.

Pete gathered hidden strength and he dove at his partner, grabbing her by the knees. Diana's gun flew from her hands and Sam raced to try and retrieve it, only to be met with the gun pointing in his direction.

Pete was wounded prey. He desperately shoved his gun from one person to the next wondering whom he should take out first. The gun finally landed on Diana and she watched in awe as Claire appeared behind Pete to finish their business.

The death omen had come.

It was all the distraction Diana needed to pull the trigger and drop Pete to the ground.

-o-o-o-o

The sun rose an hour later as they stood over Pete's body. Diana was still in shock, but handling the information much better than they thought she would. She explained that Pete had confessed to her and that she could probably get the Winchester name off the Giles cases.

The St. Louis charges were a bit more of an issue. They'd still have to stay on the lam. But at least, in an unexpected turn of events, Diana had been willing to let them go. It was more than they had hoped for.

"You wouldn't happen to know where my car is by chance…"

Diana shook a finger at them, warning them away from the impound yard. Sam quickly jumped in to state that they would improvise for transportation, and smiled. Knowing that improvising meant that they would be in the impound lot before sundown, the Impala back in their hands.

They walked away from the detective and Dean started on the pangs in his stomach. Always with the eating. Sam's heart felt light again as he realized they were truly on the road to recovery. He shoved him a little in a playful manner to let him know that he was there. Really there.

Sam realized that they never would have made it out of there if the connection hadn't been established. As much as he hated to think about it, he was grateful, just this once, he had the gift.

He was able to save Dean's life.

The conversation the demon had with their mother from that fateful night bulldozed its way to the front of Sam's mind again as the brothers walked in amiable silence back towards town.

"_What do you want," Mary answered through gritted teeth._

"_I've come for my payment. Remember, in the chapel?__ When you said t__hat you'd do anything? __**Anything**__ for poor, young Dean?"_

"_What. Do. You. Want?"_

_The Demon looked down at the cooing infant before him and back to Mary._

"_Sammy," he stated, "he's mine."_

"_No! You can't have him. I never agreed…"_

"_Oh, dear woman, but you did! You said you'd do anything."_

"_No," she gasped, "I never meant one for the other…"_

"_Well, those details were never worked out, were they?" The Demon chuckled at his game. "I held up my end of the bargain. It's time for you to pay." He looked down to the child, and smiled. "With Sammy." _

_The young infant looked up at the man before him; no fear in his eyes. A familiarity._

"_See? He knows me? But why wouldn't he? We were acquainted when you were six months pregnant. You remember the day, don't you, Mary? How Sam reacted to me then? I knew I had made the right choice seeking you out. Strong genes. A strong child." He reached into the crib to pick up Sammy. "__**My**__ child." _

A chill hit Sam as the evil of that moment unleashed its fury on him, wanting nothing more than to tell Dean everything. To confess his knowledge and apologize for their mother dying. To let him know about their father and that Dean could finally let go of the guilt he held from the secret that burrowed through his skin and ate away at him.

Sam shook visibly; trying to hide it from Dean, but he couldn't get away from the stare-down.

"Need a blanket there, Princess?"

Sam could feel the concern from Dean, making an effort to keep his brother's actual thoughts out of his head.

But he couldn't resist one last stab.

"Naw, I just figured I'd take a long walk on the beach with you at sunset. You'll keep me warm, just don't get too frisky. I don't put out on the first date."

Sam pushed ahead of Dean, bumping his shoulder on his pass, knowing that he'd hit all the right nerves.

"Sam?" Dean said, floored at the videotaped confession being thrown back at him. "How did you…"

His laugher filled the air as he turned back to his brother and smiled.

And it felt good to have things back to 'Winchester normal.'

They would always have each other, and all the secrets and untruths buried deep within their souls would have to stay there.

At least for a little longer.


End file.
